


Kingdom Come

by sexysigyn



Category: Logyn - Fandom, Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, sigyn - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 86,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexysigyn/pseuds/sexysigyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before embarking on his disastrous attempt at conquering Midgard, a SHIELD agent with a grudge against an old flame offers her allegiance to Loki of Asgard. But when his plan goes sideways, he kidnaps the woman for his own sinister plan, using her as leverage to keep himself out of prison. Renamed and elevated to status of goddess, the former-mortal navigates her way through her new life… especially in regards to the mercurial Loki and her changing priorities. This work begins after the events of Avengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

September 2010

The reflection that glared blurrily back at me was horrifying. “This is not who you are,” I confronted myself. There were only so many bottles of Bacardi I could polish off while listening to ‘Your Cheatin’ Heart’ and ‘Disillusion’ in the four… five…six? days since I left Windsor Castle with nary a backward glance. At some point, I had to resurface from this haze and figure out my life. Sure, to all outward appearances I was doing just fine. Almost too well. But when nobody was around, I was reduced to the woman I never believed I could be: an over-dramatic, emotional wreck. I was supposed to have become the wife of the second in line to the throne and eventually, in time, Queen.  


After I emptied what was left in my last bottles of rum and vodka down the sink, I poured some lavender scented bubble bath into the tub and sank down to my neck, inhaling the aroma of the suds. I felt invigorated when I emerged, leisurely patting myself dry with a fluffy towel that still held the lingering scent of drier sheets. For the first time in weeks, I indulged myself in something other than anxiety over my (now ex) boyfriend, alcohol, and done-me-wrong songs. I slathered lotion over my skin, cleaned my face with astringent, and applied vampy purple varnish to my nails. Pampering myself felt right. The ritual of beautifying my body was a part of my daily ritual in the past, and as a creature of habit, I took comfort in the steps. Even the normally frustrating task of creating the perfect cat-eye with my liquid eyeliner was reassuring.  


Performing on various London stages, sometimes in Shakespeare, sometimes in musical theatre, I was addicted to the limelight. Attention was my drug. Though I had not publicly stepped out as the girlfriend of the future king, I had become accustomed to the lifestyle that I sometimes enjoyed due to his position and being the critics’ darling in the theatre reviews. I sighed as inky black eyeliner streaked across my cheekbone, grabbing the cosmetic remover wipe to correct the mistake. I had given up my career, my dream, in order to pursue an even bigger ambition and now it was all for naught. I was unemployed and embittered in the English capitol; the savings from my defunct career would only cover my rent until the end of the year.  


Karaoke had always been a way for me to satisfy my desire to be the centre of attention and simultaneously exercise my vocal cords. Tucked away pubs in the English countryside where we went undisturbed were where I normally performed, but tonight wasn’t about my need for attention. Tonight was about me giving a subtle middle finger to the man who spurned me, who went behind my back and carried on a dalliance with the old flame that was never snuffed. I didn’t care if he wasn’t there for my curtain call performance. It mattered not that not a soul in that establishment knew the reason behind my song. It was a catharsis.  


I put my name and the song on the list and ordered a Cuba libre, nursing it as act after act, tone-deaf after tone-deaf person take to the stage to caterwaul their way through standards by Sinatra, Queen, and Bowie. Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, my name was called. Fighting back a self-satisfied grin, I gripped the microphone and closed my eyes, letting the music drown everything else out. “I should have held on to my pride/I should have never let you lie/I guess you got what you deserve/ I guess I should have been more like her,” I sang, the bravado dissipating with every note. “Forgiving you/ she’s stronger than I am/ you don’t look much like a man from where I’m at…” I continued, the second verse giving me my strength back, a harder edge creeping into my voice. As the last notes of my voice echoed around the space, I stepped off the stage and walked through the applause, grabbing my clutch and slapping a tenner on the polished oak bar as payment for my drink. “Keep the change,” I instructed the bartender over my shoulder.  


As I strutted out of that pub with my head held high and with not even so much as a backward glance, just as when I walked out of the private wing of the castle, I knew what my next course of action was. Heartbreak be damned, his kingdom would be mine. One way or another, I would wear the crown that had been denied me. That he had denied me.  


I would have my revenge.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After offering her services and allying herself with Loki, SHIELD Agent Anastasia Fisher finds herself in Asgard and face to face with the wrath of Odin. Finding she was just another cog in Loki's schemes, she realizes she must learn to survive in her new home.

              Black. Everything was black, the sort of suffocating absence of light that messes with your mind. The darkness was so permeating that I could not even sense the passage of time. How long had it been since, horrified at the state in which the Asgardian was in, I fell to my knees beside Loki as he was lying wounded in the penthouse of Stark Tower? One moment I was gently dabbing a towel the on bleeding gash that marred his forehead, the duffel bearing the S.H.I.E.L.D insignia that held a sparse variety of my earthly belongings by my side and the next, I was in this limbo. 

              I had no idea if Loki had succeeded in his quest or not. Beyond his taunts that the age of freedom was at an end and the information I overheard Thor give the others in the Avengers Initiative regarding an extraterrestrial army, I had no idea how he would accomplish the conquest. Loki never offered specifics and I sensed it was best not to ask. He exuded danger and I knew I needed to remain on his good side if I wished to further my own goals, especially if I sought his assistance in my own conquest. He was my best hope if I was to ever sit in St. Edward’s Chair. I had joined S.H.I.E.L.D to gain access to sensitive information, to seek out contacts, to use subterfuge to plan my revenge but what of that would I need if I had a god at my back? Who would dare stand in my way?

              Uttering a prayer, my words sounded cold and hollow. Yes, I believed, but that belief had been tested. Not just by the appearance of two figures from pagan mythology on the premises where I worked, although that was a big one. All I had endured in the past two years had put a strain on it. Now I was pleading that New York and, subsequently, the world, was falling under Loki’s dominion. I suppose, in a roundabout way, I was really praying to Loki, the Norse God of Mischief and Lies, to be successful. If he wasn’t, I shuddered at the amount of trouble I was in. Treason. Aiding and abetting a fugitive. Accomplice or conspiracy to murder. If I made it out of this alive, I already had a death sentence waiting for me.

               Light, bright and blinding penetrated the darkness. One moment I was surrounded by the complete absence of light and in the same instance, I was lying on a smooth floor, shivering at the cold despite my black SHIELD strike suit. I felt as if I could move my limbs again but they were too stiff from being confined in the darkness. Blurry, indistinguishable shapes stood around me and I could tell that there were voices but it was like listening to a radio underwater. For the first time in a great while, I was afraid. I was defenseless. 

               “What is so different,  _Father?”_  Loki’s voice. It was menacing and full of mischief, lilting as if he was laughing at a joke only he knew. “Just as you abducted me from Jotunheim with the excuse of using me to unite the Aesir and the Frost Giants, I brought this woman of importance from Midgard to be an emissary. Proof of my benevolence. She even offered me her loyalty, did you not my pet?”

                A claw-like grip on my arm brought me to my feet, holding me steady on my shaking legs. I was still too disoriented to formulate a response; what would I even say? My heart was racing and I was quivering although I was no longer sure if it was still from the chill of the floor or fear.

               “Loki! What have you done?” Thor. The mighty God of Thunder. I might have placed my trust in Loki on the helicarrier, but it was the presence of this hero that made me feel somewhat more secure in this surreal situation.

               “Silence! Both of you!” a voice hissed. Even without seeing his face I knew the speaker could be none other than Odin, the All-Father I had heard both Loki and Thor refer to. Authoritative and deep, it was the voice of a monarch. Someone who commanded respect. It was a tone I was familiar with even if I did could not see the visage of this king.

                My eyesight began to clear but I was too afraid to look around. In front of me was an elderly-looking man with shoulder length white hair and beard, but the feature that stood out was not that. Nor was it the fact that he wore a golden patch over there space where he had lost an eye. No, it was how frail and short he seemed, especially in comparison to Thor and Loki. Odin All-Father, King of Asgard. Despite his fragility, his silent anger seemed to fill the cavernous space. “You know the penalty for mortals in Asgard. You are condemned to the dungeons and the mortal…”

                To my right, Thor took a step forward, his hand gripping Mjolnir tighter. “Father, please. There must be some other way…”

                On my left, Loki moved his hand from my upper arm and slid it around my waist, yanking me closer to him. I stifled my cry of surprise, maintaining my fractious composure. ‘Yes,  _Father._  There must be some other way. You would not separate me from my betrothed, would you?”

                His  _what?_  My chest seized as my breath stopped and my heart raced. No, no, this was not part of the agreement Loki had made with me. When I knelt before him on the helicarrier, I only offered my assistance, my knowledge of the human race and the intelligence and connections I had made as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent. I had never agreed, never imagined I would wind up in Asgard with him and I certainly never offered my hand in marriage. Manipulative as Loki was, I should have seen this coming. I was just a bargaining chip in some elaborate scheme. All my manouevering to win him to my side and all I had done was play right into his hand.

               Odin was shouting, nearly quaking with anger, but the voices in my head were drowning him out. While the All-Father railed on about disgrace, audacity, Loki debasing himself, I was preoccupied by the fear that these were my last moments. I would suffer the price of Loki’s brazen insolence.

               “I chose her to be my consort when I ruled the people of Midgard. How better than to display my good intentions than to wed one of their own? For my heirs to be half of their blood,” justified Loki.

              Odin looked levelly at Thor. “One day your devotion to humanity and the one you call ‘brother’ will be your undoing,” he stated, his voice deadly calm. “Now get out of my sight, all of you.”

              For the first time, I took a good look at my surroundings. So this was Asgard. As Loki yanked on my waist, half dragging me away from the throne, I my eyes scanned the room; massive columns ran its entire length and breadth, at least fifty feet high. We were on some sort of aisle, twenty feet wide and several steps lower than the rest of the floor, ostensibly so that when there were great assemblies those gathered on the steps could better see those where we were. Sunlight streamed in through huge round window grates behind the throne and large, rectangular ones that ran from polished floor to ceiling along the walls. Almost every surface was carved with intricate Norse motifs, dragons, snakes, and wolves featuring heavily among them. It was an imposing space, worthy of the gods that tread here. 

              Beside Thor and Loki, dwarfed by this architecture, I felt puny. I did not belong here; yet, here I was. Here… in Asgard…to  _stay_! Odin’s words sank in at that moment. Loki had just announced his intention to make me his wife. I had readily and willingly given Loki my allegiance and the intelligence I had gathered from S.H.I.E.L.D; I had no idea that using my emotions to manipulate him would land me in this predicament. “I can walk,” I announced stubbornly, easily freeing myself from his grasp; Loki was barely paying attention to me anyway.

             “Loki, what do you intend to do?” Thor pressed.

             “There are things one only knows once they have wielded the Odinforce, brother. Just as Odin once stripped you of power and banished you to Midgard, can not the reverse be done to a mortal?” He laughed, the sinister sound jolting me to my core. “Now, Thor, greet your soon-to-be sister in law like a good brother.”

             Thor turned to me and bowed his head. “Welcome to Asgard, my lady. I wish you happiness in your marriage.” He spoke the words but there was no conviction in them. I did not interpret his tone as inhospitable; he and I both knew that joy would be hard to come by wedded to his brother. He was sad for the state in which we suddenly found ourselves. 

             “Welcome to Asgard, my dear,” a female voice greeted. It was warm and welcoming, the first such sound I had heard in many days. I looked in the direction of the voice and saw a woman, her strawberry blonde hair curled and coiffed, her slate blue gown covered by an asymmetrical beaten silver breast plate and shoulder guard. She reached toward me and I reciprocated taking her hand. “Loki, are you not going to introduce me to this captivating young woman?”

              Loki cleared his throat. “This is Anastasia of Midgard.”

             “This is our Mother,” Thor clarified, looking pointedly at Loki, “Frigga, Queen of Asgard.”

             “Your Majesty,” I breathed, dipping a curtsey. My time at the side of the second in line to the British throne had given me much preparation for the greeting of royalty, queens especially. “It is an honour.”

             “Please, child. You are here as our guest. We must find you suitable accommodation. Please, come with me,” she urged, tucking my hand in the crook of her elbow. “I will see you settled in and taken care of. Thor, Týr and Heimdall are looking for you.”

             Thor smiled at his mother and departed, heading the direction opposite where Frigga was leading. I was lost in minutes, the stone corridors all looking the same. Between open archways, I caught glimpses of the city. It shimmered in the sunlight, all gold and metallic. The sea stretched to the edge of the horizon, a bridge shot through with luminescent streaks of colour extending to where a great bronze structure stood. Bifröst. Hovering in the blue sky were ghostly heavenly bodies and fluffy white clouds; thousands of stars were visible despite the light of the sun and far in the distance, the azure sky grew gradually darker as it bled into the limitless Sea of Space.  

            “These shall be your rooms, child. Do they meet with your approval?” she asked, nodding at the guard stationed beside the set of huge doors of bronze emblazoned with more of the Norse ornamentation. He pulled the one nearest to him open and held it as the three of us stepped across the threshold.

            I stopped in the centre of the room, aghast. Just in front of me was an octagonal pool, the water dark and refreshing, with cushions of ruby velvet on the ledge, inviting me to take a seat. To my right was a smaller door, propped open to reveal a sleeping sofa dressed with crisp white sheets and a thick blanket of the same rich red velvet. A balcony with a potted, dogwood-like tree looked out over the city and letting a slight breeze stir the white curtains that were tied back by golden ropes. There was an understated grandeur, unlike the overbearing regality of the castles and palaces of Great Britain. This seemed more like home than Buckingham or St. James ever did. In this space I began to relax, feeling a sense of ease with Queen Frigga; raised with the gentility of Southern hospitality, her gracious reception was comforting. “Yes ma’am. I am overwhelmed by your hospitality.”

            “I will have some flowers sent to your rooms to make the space more welcoming. What are your favorites?” Frigga asked, showing me into a room with a sofa and several comfortable looking Roman-style chairs situated before a massive stone fireplace.

            Loki, however, could always be counted upon to change the mood in a room. “I would hesitate to call her ‘guest,’” he interjected before I had a chance to tell the Queen I had a fondness for irises. The ease which was beginning to settle in was erased by his smirk. “Lady Anastasia is my bride-to-be. We wish to be wed with all due haste; I do not wish to waste time in making her my wife.”

            Frigga beamed and pulled me into her embrace. “Dear child, what news!” Stepping back, she placed her hands on my shoulders. “We shall not tarry. I will summon the most accomplished seamstresses to design and sew your trousseau while you and I attend to the details. But first, I will send for a hot meal to be brought. You look as if you could use it and some rest. I will visit you first thing tomorrow. Góða nótt, dóttir.” She squeezed my hand one last time before leaving Loki and I alone.

           “I suppose I should do my duty and ask for your hand, should I not?” Loki teased as soon as his mother was gone. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of forcing you into marriage.”

           “I do not see where I have much choice but to accept,” I reminded him quietly. “Luckily for you I am but a mortal. To someone with a near-immortal lifespan, I will be only a minor inconvenience. My life is no longer than a heartbeat.”

           “What makes you think I want you dead?”

           The question caught me off guard. “I no longer serve a purpose…”

          “Perhaps not at this exact moment. Only the Norns know what will happen in the future.”

          I was no expert in Norse mythology, but Norns be damned. Cryptic response aside, I knew that Loki sought to be master of his own destiny. If anyone would make plans for him, it would be Loki Laufeyson himself. By ransoming me to Asgard, our destinies were now intertwined. Either I would flourish here as his bride or die by the edict of Odin.

          “Why did you bring me here in the first place?” I asked. I was trepidatious of the answer, but I needed to know.

          “You were intriguing. And it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

          “No,” I began hesitantly. “There is always a reason for everything you do. Even from the few days I’ve know you, it is evident that every little thing you do is part of some larger scheme, some grand game that you pull all the strings to. What purpose do I serve in Asgard?”

          A flicker of something passed across his face; anger, fear, concern, I couldn’t tell. “I saved your life.”

          “You mean you saved your own life. I understood the subtext of what Thor and Odin were saying. I should be dead. By saving me you saved your own skin. And I assume you are just keeping me around until the next time you make an attempt on Midgard. Just another piece in your game of galactic chess, Loki. That is all I am.”

          He advanced on me, and against every instinct in my body, I did not cower away from him. His jaw was clinched and his eyes appeared black and more sunken than they had been when he was escorted aboard the helicarrier. My words had overstepped my bounds and I would have paid for my insolence had a servant not interrupted, bearing the food Frigga promised. Loki gave an annoyed grunt and walked toward a door that I had as of yet not seen behind. “There should be a table in there,” he indicated with disdain, walking toward the balcony.

          I nodded in the direction of the door, leading the maid. Behind it was a small octagonal room, bathed in the rays of hazy golden afternoon sun that filtered through the huge lattice work open windows. Nestled between two chairs was a round table, gold like most of the other furniture I had seen throughout the palace. The maid set the platter on the surface and with a quick curtsey, scurried out of the room, no doubt wishing to distance herself from Loki. I didn’t blame her.

          I took a seat in the dinner nook and pulled the golden dome off the platter. After the steam cleared, my mouth watered at the sight of what appeared to be a chicken breast smothered in a sweet smelling sauce that looked similar to hollandaise. Several stalks of asparagus and small roasted potatoes shared the plate, looking just like food I would have found at home… wherever ‘home’ was. 

          Loki joined me, taking the second seat and stretching out his long legs, elevating them on the window ledge and crossing his ankles. A flicker of amusement caused his lips to twitch as I attempted to eat in a ladylike fashion, restraining myself from shoveling the food in my mouth like a pig. “My, somebody is hungry,” he commented. “You’d think you hadn’t been fed in days.”

          “I haven’t,” I remarked, my response muffled by the sound of the food I was chewing. “Not since that meal I had on the helicarrier.”

          “Ahhh yes. Your egg platter. What did you call it? Eggs  _Benedict?_ ” 

          “Bingo.”

          We sat in silence while I finished the meal, but as soon as I set my utensils down, Loki stood and walked toward the door. “There is someone I want you to meet.”

          Already overwhelmed by the events that unfolded, I was in no shape to meet more Asgardians. I would be here for a long time to come; there would be plenty opportunity to be introduced to others. Sleep called to me, a temporary escape. I was tired and scared. A good eight hours rest would, I hoped, rejuvenate me and clear my head. Then I would feel more at ease. But I knew Loki would not allow me that luxury. He was calling the shots.

          Following his black-clad figure through the halls, watching as the tails of his coat swished with the sway of his hips, he led me through more corridors and down more stairs until we came to a set of rooms that felt quite removed from the rest of the palace. Stepping inside the doorway Loki opened, I noticed a small girl with black hair hunched over a desk, writing feverishly. The room itself seemed to be some sort of classroom. However Asgardians were educated, this room would have been familiar even to mortals such as myself. Book shelves were placed around the room and a huge tapestry of a large tree dominated one wall. I had read the dossier on Thor and Loki on the helicarrier; the tree had to be none other than Yggdrasil with all the Nine Realms and the three Norns beneath its branches, huddled like the three witches in Macbeth. Some scientist named Dr. Foster had supplied the information after being hired by S.H.I.E.L.D following Thor’s disastrous visit to New Mexico.

          A wizened old man in flowing robes stood beside the young girl, watching what she was scribbling. At our appearance, he bowed slightly and with a nod from Loki, limped out of the room. The child looked up from her work and her whole face brightened at the sight greeting her. “Father!” she cried, launching herself at Loki. In the first show of true happiness from him I had seen, he knelt down and embraced her, pulling her close.

           _Loki had a daughter?_  I knew in mythology Loki had numerous children, but I was still trying to figure out where mythology ended and where reality began. Was this Hela, the Goddess of the Underworld? Unlike the old Norse depictions of Hela, this girl looked so normal. She was skinny, almost painfully so, but not skeletal, and her skin was ashen as opposed to half-decayed.

          “I knew you weren’t dead, Father. I knew you were still alive,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “If you had been I would have seen you in Nifilheim but Grandfather is always so cross and he never listens. Grandmother and Uncle Thor were so sad but they were the only people who would hear me…”

          “Shhh,” he soothed, stroking her hair. “I am here now. I am here and I have brought someone I would like you to meet.”

          Realizing that meant me, I quickly wiped away the tears that were beginning to spill over my lash line. I did not want Loki to think I was becoming too involved in this private moment or heaven forbid, weak and emotional.

          The little girl looked at me as Loki let her go, the tracks of her tears shimmering in the torchlight. “Bid your new step-mother welcome, dearest Hela.” As if doubting his words, she turned to look back at him, big green eyes exactly like her father’s open wide. 

          I squatted and extended my hand toward the child in a friendly, conciliating gesture. “My name is Anastasia. I am very happy to meet you.”

          She hesitated but with an encouraging nod from Loki, she stepped forward and placed her small palm in mine. “I am Hela but all my friends call me Hel. Well, they would if I had friends,” she hiccupped. “Are you from Midgard?”

          Chuckling, I nodded. “You may call me ‘Stacie’. And I would love to be your friend, Hel. I can tell you all about Midgard because, yes, that I where I am from.”

          “You married a mortal, Father?” she asked incredulously, looking back at her sire. “I am sure Grandfather is very upset with you right now.”

          Loki stood from his crouch and lowered his frame into the chair Hel had vacated. “We are not quite wed yet. Soon, child. Soon. But what Odin thinks does not matter. Are  _you_  upset?”

“No, I am very pleased. I thank you for bringing me a step-mother.” She turned back to me, expression hopeful. “May I call you that? Stepmother?”

          “Nothing would please me more,” I agreed, looking her straight in the eye. This child, who had every reason to be wary of me, to be jealous at my presence during her reunion with her father, had unflinchingly embraced me into her family. Unexpected was the revelation that Loki was a father, but young Hel had filled me with a sense of purpose, reawakening the maternal instinct that I had compartmentalized and buried when I made up my mind to destroy my ex. From my own childhood I recognized a sadness about her. I sensed isolation, a desire to please; feelings I knew too well. Whereas Frigga had welcomed me with open arms, I knew I would be leaning on her for advice and support going into my marriage and life in Asgard, I knew I would need to be there for Hel. I would be her friend if not her mother.

          Soon thereafter, I excused myself to allow Loki and Hel to continue their reunion in private. I was exhausted and emotionally drained from everything that had transpired. I needed to decompress and sleep. Tomorrow undoubtedly held new challenges and I wanted to prepare myself as best I could. Wedding planning, more introductions, possible further yelling from Odin…

          The warmth from my meeting with Hel evaporated when I realized I was lost. Hopelessly, completely lost. The corridors were dark and endless, lit only by torches. Absorbed in my thoughts as I had been, I was not even sure from which directed I had come. Stifling a sob I backed against a wall and hung my head. I didn’t want to lose my composure but I could no longer help it. I wanted to kick and scream, to punch the wall until my bleeding knuckles made me feel again. Yes I lusted after conquest above all else but this was not the price I was willing to pay. I wanted it on my terms, not at the expense of becoming a conquest myself. I had been forcibly torn away from everything and everyone I knew. Was I listed as MIA or killed? What would S.H.I.E.L.D tell my family? Now I was turned around in a subterranean passage in an unfamiliar realm. There were no guards in sight and the only sound was of my heavy breathing. Future princess of Asgard be damned.

          I sat on the cold stone floor and buried my face in my hands and cried. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Asgardian wedding celebration... including the traditional Wedding Night

           I was intensely aware of the stares of the assembled Asgardians, fixed on me as I strolled toward the temple, my left hand being held aloft by the man I was affianced to. It was not beneath my notice that we were regarded warily. I knew well that Asgard had never fully trusted Loki and now they had even less reason to do so after his usurpation of the throne following Thor’s banishment and his subsequent attempt to conquer Midgard. Kept in a cell deep in the dungeons, Loki had been released on strict house arrest just days prior. As for myself, veiled though I was, it was obvious to the bystanders I was not one of them. It was neither their judgment nor condemnation that I felt weigh so heavily; rather, it was their curiosity. Rumours made their way through the city soon after the Court Herald announced the nuptials; could it be that this human woman was remarkable enough to not only merit a place in the Realm Eternal but could she be a catalyst for a changed Loki? Midgardians were not allowed in Asgard by order of the Allfather. I was a curio; just how had this simple mortal with no outwardly apparent abilities come to be engaged to the rogue Prince of Asgard?

          I held up my chin a little higher, not caring whether I looked regal or arrogant. What did their stares matter to me? My mortality was to be short-lived; soon I would be a Citizen of the Realm Eternal, of Asgard. Princess. Immortal. Goddess. One and true future queen of Midgard. Even now we walked ahead of the Queen and the Crown Prince. I knew it was a small triumph that today, Thor’s view would be of Loki’s back. None of the assembly could know how much of a precursor this was of the way things would soon be. How my main purpose in being here was to not only be a companion but a co-conqueror of the mortal realm. Someone with inside knowledge. Someone who would rise from nothing to everything. A woman who had nothing to lose. Literally. After being abducted here, I had nothing left to fight for other than my revenge.

          I took a deep breath as we passed through the massive, intricately carved wooden doors, followed by Thor and Frigga. At the end of the long aisle, Odin stood behind the altar, imposing in his gleaming armour. Gungnir was in his right hand and Huginn and Muninn, the sleek ravens who nightly reported the goings-on in Midgard, were perched behind him. Members of the court, dressed in their ceremonial garb, were gathered in the cool, silent interior of the temple. Hundreds of candles were burning, casting flickering, grotesque shadows on the stone walls. I had not been here before but I was struck by how reminiscent the architecture was to the Gothic cathedrals of Midgard. It was almost a comfort to come into this room and feel so at home. This thought alarmed me. It bordered too closely on sentiment, a trait I found uncomfortable. Asgard was my home now. I was this day not only shedding my mortality, I was also renouncing my allegiance to Midgard.

         For all the happiness of the occasion, it was solemn. This was the wedding of a god, of a prince, however fallen he was. We stood next to each other at the altar, Thor at Loki’s shoulder. Foreigner that I was, I had nobody to stand at mine but it was of no matter. Before the marriage ceremony proper, I had to formally renounce my claim to Midgard. Disengaging my hand from Loki’s grasp, I knelt down before Odin. Since my arrival, I had rehearsed this moment over and over. It was my first great performance, the one that all subsequent plans hinged on. Behind my veil of silver cloth of gold, I closed my eyes and with a voice that never wavered, I cast aside my loyalty to Midgard and implored the Allfather to grant me rights to citizenship. Everything I had known, even the name I had gone by for two dozen years, was forfeit. In this moment, I was throwing everything I had left from my past life aside. I was gambling on my future, putting all my chips on Loki and his promise to deliver what I most desired into my keeping.

         I felt Odin place his hand on the crown atop my head and let it rest there as he granted my request. It weighed heavily on my brow, a metaphor for the significance of the ceremony I was now participating in. Mindful of this, I pledged my sole allegiance to the Allfather and to Asgard. I promised to uphold the laws, to obey the edicts of Odin, the king, and to conduct myself in a manner befitting a citizen.

         “I, Odin Allfather, declare you henceforth to be Sigyn, Citizen of Asgard.” Opening my eyes, I felt him lift his hand from my head and indicate me to rise. Obeying his silent command, I stood and dipped an elegant curtsey to the old king, swearing my undying fealty.

         Sigyn. I was now Sigyn. I had not known what name I was to be given upon my citizenship being granted but now I had been given a true Asgardian name. Sigyn. My old, Midgardian name fallen away, I felt an immense power begin to take over as I mentally adapted to my new identity. By the time I recessed out of the temple, I would have not only a new name but a new realm to call home, married to a prince who promised me even more than just the world. I would be reinvented. A new creation. The possibilities were unlimited.

         First ceremony completed, Loki stepped up to where I stood and we faced one another. I did not know what to expect in the ceremony. While he had been let out of his cell one afternoon to rehearse, he had just coached me about the renunciation; we had not gone over this. “It is very straightforward,” he had explained dismissively. “You merely have to follow along.”

         Normally of proud, erect posture, today he seemed to stand even straighter, the armour I had polished for him just this very morn nearly glowing in the candlelight. Looking up at him, I could see myself reflected in the brow of his helmet, a silver ghost blurrily rendered, warped by the curves and angles of the metal. Stoic in posture, his jaw set, it was his green eyes that betrayed his emotion. The rest of Asgard might wonder what it was that bade Loki seek to elevate me to my new exalted position, what it was that I possessed that he would find so desirable. Conclusions they would arrive at would surely not feature affection, but standing face to face, I could see warmth in their cool, emerald depths even through the filmy fabric that separated my own face from his. Vainly I fought the blush that I could feel spreading across my cheeks and down my chest. I did not want the rosiness to ruin my perfectly porcelain skin and give away that I was just another woman in the throes of young love.

          I had taken the initiative in the two months since Loki abducted me to visit him in the dungeons, where Odin had his errant son confined the day after our arrival. At first it was uncomfortable; the guards deactivated the force field that kept him within the stark white confines of his prison and I let myself in, taking a seat on the lone chair. After a few times, the visits became less awkward. He showed me the number of books stacked in the corner, even using the opportunity to begin tutoring me in Runes, the ancient written language of Asgard. Through my visits and the two times a group of six Einherjar had escorted him to the rooms in which we would live after our marriage for a rehearsal, I had sensed that Loki had begun to soften toward me. During one of his paroles, as my dressmakers were hastily attempting to complete fitting me for a gown of emerald green chiffon, I watched with some satisfaction as his eyes grew wide over the brim of his wine goblet. Still, I was suspicious of this warming trend. I did not- could not- let myself believe he was growing fond of me. Before meeting my Midgardian prince, I had always been susceptible to any halfway attractive man who showed me any attention. Yes, I was marrying Loki. Yes, I did hope that maybe one day we would love each other. That I could not lie about, even to myself. But I wanted him to  _earn_  that love. To prove he truly did harbour affection for me. Otherwise, I could not trust that it wasn’t just another means of manipulation. But for now, I was willing to play the “Game of Love”. I just prayed that I wouldn’t lose my head in the process.

          After exchanging vows and placing wedding bands of plain gold, Loki’s of yellow and mine of the most beautiful rose, the Allfather took Loki’s hand and raised it, palm side up, outlining the traditional duties of an Asgardian husband. He then took my right hand and placed it in my intendeds’ palm, expounding on the virtues of a true Asgardian wife. Thor handed his father a tooled leather girdle inlaid with gold and Odin wrapped it around our clasped hands, binding them together. Thus joined, we recited pledges of eternal fidelity to one another.

          Normally, at this point in the ceremony, the brides’ attendant would reach around from behind and raise her veil, signifying that they were giving the bride over to her intended. In the absence of an attendant, I wondered if this portion would be skipped or if I was required to raise my own veil with my free left hand. Frigga, the goddess of Marriage, graciously stepped forward and raised the material off my face. Able to clearly see the face of the man to whom I was being wed, I was overcome with such unbidden emotion that I could barely hear the Allfather declare us married over the rushing sound in my ears.  _Don’t lose yourself._  I only understood it was over when Loki bent his head and gently kissed my lips.

          It was a moment of pure triumph. While marrying my prince evaded me whilst living on Midgard, I had gambled on forming an alliance with Loki, a gambit which rewarded me in spades. I fought hard to keep my face impassive, but as we turned to face the assembly, hands still leather-bound, I cast a sideways glance at him and saw that he was smirking roguishly. In such a solemn moment, it was a look only the god of Mischief could carry off. Lips twitching, I allowed myself to smile, immediately feeling any tension within evaporate.

          As we recessed out, those courtiers along the aisle tossed oats onto the floor ahead of us, muttering blessings of fertility. Sincere or not, their sanctifications would have to wait. We would be fruitful in time, but before then, we had much work to do. We were immortal; we would have plenty of time in which to be fruitful after our goals had been achieved.

          Once again Thor and Frigga followed us from the temple and back to the palace; this time, however, the entire court joined the procession to the Feasting Hall for the banquet celebrating our union. Succulent aromas of roasted meat wafted toward us, borne on the slight breeze that blew in from the open veranda. Not having eaten since last night, I was starved.

         While everyone else took their seats, Loki and I retired briefly to a chamber just off the hall. A handmaiden waited there, bearing a carved ebony box inlaid with amber and onyx and a lock featuring a serpent with emerald eyes. I took a seat on a chair with plush velvet cushioning and she removed the crown of blackened gold and the silver veil, carefully setting them aside on their own cushion. Precious though the crown was, in Asgardian tradition, the veil was the most important part of the bridal ensemble: it would be saved and used to swaddle the couple’s firstborn. The leather cord that was used in the handclasping ceremony would also be saved, to be used to bind that swaddling, a symbol of continuity.

          Obviously annoyed at the pace at which my handmaiden was working, Loki used his right hand to undo the knot in the leather thong binding our hands and unwound it, dropping it unceremoniously on top of the carefully folded veil. He waved his hand, silently dismissing the maid. She dipped a curtsey before scurrying out, the only sound the heavy curtain she pushed aside brushing against the floor.

          I watched, fascinated, as his fingers deftly unlocked the wooden casket and lifted the lid, revealing a diadem of rose gold nestled on a black velvet pillow. A scene featuring warriors crossing the Bifrost was moulded into the metal, rendered in such minute detail. Struck by its beauty, I gasped, reaching out and lightly resting my fingers of the box. “It’s beautiful,” I breathed, unable to mask the admiration in my voice.

          Gently, he lifted the headpiece from the casket and held it carefully between his hands. “I specially commissioned this for you,” he explained, slowly lowering it onto my head. “This peculiar pink gold is not seen in this realm. My wife must stand out from the rest, set apart by both her countenance and demeanour.” He ran his hand through my hair, his fingers twining themselves in the delicate red-gold strands, rearranging the way the curls fell over my shoulders. I shivered slightly as his fingertips delicately brushed my collarbone.

          He must have noticed my involuntary reaction to his touch. Using the hand not in my hair, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into a standing position. “Tell me, love. Doth my flesh excite you?” He brought the tendrils curling around his fingers to his lips, kissing the strands.

          “No, milord,” I replied, evenly meeting his gaze. “It is the anticipation.”

          “Of?” he prompted, raising his eyebrows.

          “Eternity.”

          Apparently my response was not what he had foreseen. Letting the lock of auburn hair fall to my shoulder, he traced two of his fingers along the top of my cheekbone, down along my jaw, and under my chin which he jerked upward. His eyes still held the warmth I discerned during the handclasping, but now it was joined by fire. It was the devious glint they held just before all hell broke loose. Was he anticipating the day when he would achieve his goals of domination? Or was the look fed by a more immediate conquest, one right at hand yet so seemingly out of reach?

          The warmth that had threatened to spread throughout my body in the temple exploded like flames when he began to lean in, his eyes holding mine captivated, unblinking. The feel of his breath on my lips drove sanity from my mind; I was becoming nothing more than a slave to my basest human traits. I was neither Midgardian nor of Asgard. I was a woman. A woman on fire for a man of ice. Snippets of a poem formed in my mind, parallel to our incongruity. “Some say the world will end in fire… for destruction ice is also great…”

          Just as I felt I might be consumed by the conflagration, he stopped. Without breaking eye contact, he ran his thumb across my lips. “You’re right,” he agreed. “We have eternity.”

          I stood motionless, afraid that if I moved even a little bit, I would be reduced to a pile of ashes. Conscious thoughts were beginning to swirl around in my head, a mess of unanswered questions. He was the god of Mischief, the trickster. Was he playing me in a way that I, manipulative as I was, could not see? Was he making a point? That he was a god and I still human, married or not? Or was it more simple? Was it simple seduction?

         “Come, my bride,” he directed, removing his hold on my chin and taking my fingertips in his palm. “I’m sure they are missing our presence at this, our wedding feast.” He raised our hands and with a gentle kiss on my knuckles, began walking toward the curtain that separated us from the hall.

          I pivoted around and took my place at his side, desperately attempting to quell the fire. “Lead on, husband,” I acquiesced, the word feeing foreign on my tongue. Many times I had used this word in general conversation, talking with friends, dreaming about the days when we would have men to address as such. It was still sinking in that the man now leading me into a hall full of cheering, applauding demi-gods was now my  _husband._  Loki was a lot of things and there were undoubtedly hundreds of adjectives to describe him, but husband seemed out of place. Maybe it was the suddenness with which it all happened. The fact that we had been married for no more than an hour. Or maybe it was all the whispering, the gossip spoken in hushed tones, that Loki was not marriage material. He was not seen as being able to provide the stable household that was expected of not only a prince, but the cornerstone of an Asgardian husband. But I had not come here for the traditions. I had come to conquer. Marrying the un-marriageable? That was my first conquest.

           My hand held extended from my body by that of my husband, we walked to the head table at the far end of the room and took our places in the ornate gold chairs, I symbolically sat at the grooms’ right. Thor sat at the left of his brother and, in the absence of my own attendant, Lady Sif sat on my right. At the opposite end of the room, the Allfather and Frigga sat in their throne-like seats. Even on his sons’ wedding day the King must not cede his place to another.

           Between these two were two long tables situated lower to the ground with stools for the court to sit. All were laden with bowls overflowing with fruit, vegetables in herbed sauces, and steaming tureens of stew. Centre of everything were the three wild boars that had been roasted and placed on silver platters on each of the two long tables and in front of us, the bridal couple. Released from his cell the morning before so he might partake in the traditional hunt, all three had been felled by Loki, a display that as a husband, he could provide for the needs of his family and guests. Typically, an Asgardian groom would only need to provide one kill; Loki had taken pride in taking down four of the beasts, proving that he was more than just the average man. In making the final preparations for this day, I requested that the fourth boar be roasted and served to the domestic staff, inviting them to partake in a part of the celebration. Loki had questioned it, but shrugged when I told him I was trying to gain their loyalty. Such menial beings as servants were so far beneath his notice to even fathom how useful they could be to our plans. He saw people who existed only to serve him; I them as a legion at my bidding, be it to provide for my comfort or at my command in battle.

          Musicians played during the feast, their lyrical recitation of the epics of the Nine Realms providing a backdrop to the sounds of feasting. Courtiers made their way to our table, bowing as they offered their congratulations on our union. Servants refilled the large silver goblet that Loki and I shared with the sweetest wine my palate had ever tasted. I watched as guests mingled, Thor and Sif among them, while various gods and goddesses of the Aesir and Vanir proffered on us blessings and extended warm greetings to me, Sigyn, Princess of Asgard. With gracious smiles and kind words, my spouse and I accepted their benedictions.

           As the tables were being cleared and removed prior to the commencement of the ball, I waved over two attendants who looked like they weren’t busy enough. To the first, I handed a basket of apples. “To the stables for Sleipnir,” I instructed. “What is to be done with the remaining boar?”

           “It is to be disposed of, Your Highness,” he replied, not offering any explanation of how.

           “Make sure it is given to Fenrir. I am sure he would appreciate being able to partake in some part of the feast.” I waved my hand in dismissal.

           “Yes, milady,” he replied, bowing before quickly hurrying off, the basket held before him like a prize.

           “Summon the Lady Hel,” I told the second servant. He looked baffled at my demand, but he bowed as well and went on his way to fetch my stepdaughter.

           Beneath the table, Loki grabbed my hand and squeezed it. Hel, the only one of his children not to bear the form of an animal, had been excluded from the earlier celebrations at the command of the Allfather and her omission pained him. Her continued presence in Asgard was tolerated only for the sake of Frigga, who had pled with him to let their granddaughter remain as a living link to their son after Loki had been lost off the Bifrost. It was understandable why Sleipnir and Fenrir were not allowed into the banquet, but the exclusion of little Hel was a near unforgivable slight. I personally had taken a liking to the child upon my arrival and spent as much time as possible acquainting myself with her. It was because of the devotion that her father had for her and my affection for Hel that I wanted her to be able to experience at least a part of this celebration. 

          The hall went quiet when Hel walked in. Noticing her entrance, the Allfathers’ face was a rigid mask, disapproval etched into every jagged line of his countenance. Beside him, the queen was smiling serenely, joyed to see her son together with his daughter and bride. Although at the opposite end of the room from Odin and Frigga, she turned toward them and curtsied prettily before turning back and running to her father for an embrace. “Father!” she cried as he hugged her close, leaning over the arm of his chair.

           “My child,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “How glad I am that you are here to join us.”

           Beaming, Hel turned to me and stepped into the embrace I offered. “Thank you, stepmother, for inviting me. I am pleased to be included in your wedding ball.”

           “It wouldn’t be a wedding without family,” I said. She took a step back and I could see her eyes dance at my approval, the joy transforming her melancholy visage. If all my plans came to nothing, if I was somehow unable to make good on my promises, the least I could do for my husband was be a good surrogate mother to his children. 

           Hel was thrilled when I bade an attendant situate a chair for her betwixt her father and I. She listened with rapt attention as Thor stood and offered a speech to his brother and his bride, regaling us all with tales of their youthful antics. Bemused, several times Loki rolled his eyes and shook his head, disagreeing with Thor over some point in a story. Emotions ran high when he spoke of his desolation after they thought Loki lost; Hel whimpered, remembering that time all too vividly. Loki turned and once again kissed the top of her head while I reached across her lap and took his hand in mine.

           At the end of the speech, when Thor raised a tankard of mead to toast the bride and groom, Loki raised our entwined hands aloft, over Hel’s head, as the congregation joined in with cries of “Hér! Hér!“ The room still filled with cheering, he stood and led me into the middle of the room, claping Thor on the shoulder as we passed. “Thank you, brother,” he said, thankful for the kind words.

           Thor handed the mead to Sif and embraced his brother. “I am glad you are home, brother. And happy.” Then he turned to me, pulling me into a great hug. “Welcome to Asgard, dear sister Sigyn. It pleases me that you are now of our family.”

           “I thank you, brother, for the most hospitable welcome you have extended to me. I am eternally grateful for your graciousness,” I replied, my words nearly lost in the din. As he backed away from Loki and I, Thor gallantly bowed to me and together with Sif returned to the table, taking a moment to ruffle Hel’s hair as he sat down.  

            Music started, immediately silencing the applause. Looking deep into my eyes, Loki took me into his arms, leading me in the stately waltz-like dance. “Your skin seems lit from within this eve, beloved one of mine,” he whispered, holding me closer. I felt his hand on my back slide ever so slightly lower down.

            “Perhaps it is the wine, husband,” I explained.

            “Or desire, my love.” He dipped his head and for only the second time that day, kissed my lips. “Tell me, how does this make you feel?”

            I sighed, unable to stop myself. It was pure lust, the most carnal of all sins. He was making it hard for me to hold myself together, for me to keep my heart from ruling my head. Perhaps tonight it would be acceptable to forgo my rationality and give in to what my flesh desired. The fire in my body still smouldered, a fire I saw reflected in the emerald depths of his eyes. For the rest of the dance, I was unable to look away from them, entranced. I sensed that he craved me as much as I him. The only thing keeping me tethered to the here and now were the murmurs of the hundred or so guests watching as we danced our first dance as husband and wife.

           And we danced. I was spun around the floor by nearly every man at court. I could see as Loki jealously eyed every person who laid hands on me, waiting for any excuse to cut in and reclaim his blushing bride. That moment came when my latest dance partner, Fandral, bowed at the waist and kissed my hand, his lips lingering a moment too long. In an instant my husband was upon him, hand on Fandral’s shoulder, teasing him that there were plenty of fair maidens clamouring for his attention. “Claim one of them such as I have claimed Sigyn for my own,” he suggested with a slightly menacing grin. The lothario of the Warriors Three smiled in his good natured way, but I noticed how he avoided Loki the rest of the evening.

           Not long after the dancing began, Odin departed the festivities. A king’s work never rests, even on the occasion of his sons’ wedding. The entire court knelt and the musicians silenced their instruments as the Allfather made his exit, first offering his blessings on our union as a father and as King. He had been furious when Loki ransomed me to Asgard and announced his intent to wed me according to Asgardian rites. I sensed his hesitation now in offering his benediction, but I was a weak human, born of Midgard. I presented myself as meek, pliable. I was a distraction, an idle plaything for his son. If I seemed to make his son happy in his confinement and if seemingly being besotted with me kept Loki from making the mischief he was renowned for, Odin Allfather was willing to grudgingly accept my presence.

           We dispatched a droopy Hel to bed when the stars were at their zenith. “But Father, might I have one more dance with you before I sleep?” she yawned. Normally shunned by the court, Hel shone bright that night, enthusiastically dancing the night away. Her squeals of delight as her uncle Thor picked her up and spun her around brought smiles to the faces of even the most hardened warriors.

           “One and only one more,” he indulged. “Then you will allow your grandmother to escort you back to your chamber.”

           “Oh, thank you, Father!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his waist. I nearly cried as I watched Hel stand on Loki’s feet, sharing one last dance. When the last notes faded away, he knelt down and kissed his daughters’ cheek, bidding her good night. I also made my way over and embracing my new daughter, kneeling down to pull her into my embrace. “Sweet dreams, daughter,” I wished her, whispering my words into her soft hair.

           “And same to you, stepmother Sigyn,” she replied, stifling a yawn. I chuckled, knowing that there would be little sleep to be had for me that night, but a child knew not of such things. Nonetheless, I felt blessed to have received such a wish from her. Just as she, I was an outsider to this group, and it was our mutual, unquestioning acceptance of the other than shaped our loving bond.     

           I stood and grasped Loki’s hand as we watched Frigga lead Hel from the hall, knowing that soon, we would also take our own leave. Dawn would be upon us within hours and there was still much to be done.

           Half a dozen dances later, Loki winked at me and I knew that he was ready to take our leave. While everyone was dancing to a high-energy song, we absconded, swiftly making our way through the palace. Once we were out of earshot, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into an alcove, behind a massive statue of a sword-wielding warrior. I couldn’t contain the giggle that escaped my lips when he grasped my wrists and held them rigidly at my side, bending his face toward mine. I closed my eyes, anticipating the feel of his kiss on my lips. A shiver passed through my body when his lips instead brushed the nape of my neck. With my arms pinned to my side, I was at his mercy, too weak to break free of his grasp. I was his, to do with as he pleased. “Do you mean to take me here in the corridor?” I breathed, feeling his teeth delicately nibbling on my earlobe.

         “Do you not wish me to? Shall I not take my wife whenever and wherever I desire her?” He replied, his hot breath tickling my collarbone as his lips made their way back down my throat.

         Waves of wanton need were crashing throughout my entire being, threatening to drown me. I was losing the struggle, this war I had been waging with my body all day. I no longer cared. Except the servants and the guards who lined the halls, everyone in the palace was either in the ballroom or sitting upon the throne. So what if I gave myself in this nook in the wall? If I allowed my husband to deflower his bride behind a statue?

         It was cruelly unwelcome when he released me from his arms, placing a kiss light as a butterfly wing on my forehead. “Let us not keep our attendants waiting, love,” he suggested, linking his hand with mine and pulling me out of the alcove and through the halls, toward our chamber.

         Guards stationed outside our chamber pulled open the double doors and, still hand in hand, we walked inside. Technically, the whole wing of the palace was ours, with rooms for receiving, entertaining, and various other rooms for our personal use. Passing swiftly through the reception rooms and a corridor, he waved his hand and the two massive, golden doors with reliefs of huge beast of Norse mythology swung open. Stepping inside the huge chamber, I paused to take it all in: this was where I would sleep every night for the rest of eternity.

         I had been in here once before, to oversee the delivery of my trousseau and a final fitting for my wedding gown, but these rooms had been empty then. Now diaphanous hangings of white silk hung draped from the three arches that led to the balcony, pulled back offering a magnificent view of the night sky. Though there were tall, golden braziers burning fragrant oils to illuminate the room, I was more interested in the twinkling starlight that hung in the heavens.

         Sweeping my eyes across the rest of the room, I felt the pit of my stomach drop out as I beheld the gold bed with its sheets of emerald green silk. The marital bed we would share, christen, tonight. The bed we would sleep in every night of our married life, for millennia to come. Suddenly, the thought was almost overwhelming. In this bed, we would consummate our union. Conceive our children. Presumably, I would birth our offspring in this bed. All in that moment, it became real. The reason I had come to Asgard in the first place paled in comparison to my eternity. Before my life on Midgard came to an end, before I harboured a passion to see the world burn, I had wanted nothing more than to lead a simple life with a husband and our children. Clearly, that fantasy was not to be in my past life and I had forgone the happenstance that it might upon my flight to Asgard. I had given up everything to come here with Loki, to be his bride, consort, his help in all his ambitions of ruling. Yes, children with him had crossed my mind but I tried not to ruminate on it too much lest the sentiment alter the careful plans I made. Staring at that bed, I knew I could fall in love with the man whose hand I held. I knew that there was a chance that on Asgard I could have everything that I had idealistically wanted on Midgard. I could, and I was absolutely determined that I would, have it all.

         I let go of his hand and walked over to the bed, running my fingers over the cool material. Loki was courteous enough to give me a few seconds to allow my mortal mind to take it all in, but I was still surprised when he came up behind me and wound his arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest. “I cannot stand the wait before I truly make you mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my shoulder. I shivered in spite of myself; no matter how overwhelming eternity suddenly seemed, in that moment it was just us and all I wanted, all I desired, was him. “Go make yourself ready, love, before I lose patience and rip this hindrance off your body.” He slid the hand on my stomach up to the neckline of the gown, giving it a threatening tug.

          Smiling coyly, I spun around and out of his grasp, sashaying into one of the rooms off the bedchamber that was reserved solely for the storage of clothing, armour, accoutrements, and preparation. One was for him, but the larger of the two was set aside to be used as my preparation space. I did not look back to see if he was watching me. There was neither the sound of his boots on the floor nor of the swishing of his cape and creaking of leather so I knew he was still standing where I left him, staring as I left him alone in our marital chamber.

          Three attendants waited inside my dressing room, hands clasped in front of them, eyes respectfully downcast. Among them I recognized the adolescent woman who attended me after the handclasping ceremony, silently standing between the other two handmaidens. Frigga herself had chosen my attendants of the royal body, part of her wedding gift to me, her daughter-in-law. Briefly I wondered if this chestnut-haired girl was one of those handpicked servants, but I was too eager to be alone again with my husband to ruminate any further on the thought. Without a word, I stood in the middle of the room, facing the back wall, and extended my arms out from my body, indicating I was ready to be undressed. Soundlessly, they all set about their work, two of them unfastening the elaborate gown while the third pulled out the cream coloured silk nightdress I would wear when I exited.

          As they removed the heavily embellished cape and unbuttoned the back of my gown, I cast a glance around the room. The walls were of highly polished mahogany panelling. Along the wall opposite the door from the bedchamber were large doors of cherry wood, all intricately carved with a representation of Yggdrasil, its branches extending outward from the middle door. Both surfaces reflected the candlelight that lit the space, bathing everything in a warm saffron glow. Against the wall I was facing stood a vanity, its legs smooth and gold and the surface of gold flecked white marble. A mirror with a heavy gilded frame sat atop the marble surface, in which I could see my handmaidens working at undressing me. Arranged on the vanity was a silver-handled brush and the few bottles of I tossed into my bag before fleeing the Helicarrier. On the corner was the black ebony box that held the diadem of rose gold he had placed upon my head. A jewellery chest of tooled gold inlaid with precious stones stood open beside the vanity, the jewellery I wore to be gently placed on the purple velvet lining.

          While the attendant who held the diadem earlier stored the cape from my gown, the other two pulled the dress from my shoulders, down my torso, and held it open, allowing me to carefully step out of it. The only sound was the soft swishing of the material as it was covered with linen and stored it behind the panel carved with the great Tree of Life. Even the beautiful slippers of rose gold silk were wrapped in cloth and placed in an interior drawer that smelled sweetly of ambergris, the aroma filling the space.

          Feeling much lighter after the removal of my heavy gown and restricting corset, I sat at the mirrored vanity table and evaluated my reflection as the same attendant who had held the box as Loki positioned the diadem of rose gold upon my head carefully removed the headpiece and placed it back on its pillow of black velvet. Finished with their task, the other two attendants curtsied to me and silently left the room. Uninterested in where they were going or even if they had any further tasks to attend to, I directed my gaze to the mirror and watched as the maid with the dark brown hair picked up the antique looking silver backed brush and pulled it through my tresses. Lulled into a state of semi-consciousness by her fingers working their way through the loose curls, I realized the frame of the mirror was actually a stylized snake. It wound its way around the frame, its body a pattern of Celtic knots, the tail of the beast being held in its own jaws. But it wasn’t just any snake. It was [Jörmungandr](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/J%C3%B6rmungandr), Loki’s son who was thrown by Odin into the sea on Midgard. I did not know whose decision it was to place this mirror here but it was a nice touch.

          Impatiently, I dismissed the handmaiden away. She curtsied and scurried out of the room, silently closing the door behind her. I wanted a few moments to myself before walking out of my dressing room and toward all that waited me outside. The first night of eternity. I had worn minimal jewellery for the handclasping and feast and it was no trouble for me to slip the earrings with their dangling emeralds from my lobes and place them in the jewellery chest. Evaluating my reflection, I saw not a mortal staring back at me, but a goddess. My hair was burnished gold in the candlelight, my eyes sparkled with anticipation, and my skin, as Loki had complimented, indeed seemed radiant, glowing from within. I was ripe for seduction. Loki had been working at it all day, his seduction of me, and finally I was able to freely and willingly give into his advances. I had given him my hand, my life, and my ambitions. I had given up my family, my friends, everything and everyone I had ever known. The only thing left was to give myself.

          Bare feet treading lightly on the floor, I exited the room and saw him standing on the open balcony, his figure silhouetted against the starry Asgardian sky. Clad in a tunic of emerald green and what looked almost like leggings of black leather, his hands clasped behind his back, he was silently evaluating the vista spread before him. Taking light steps so as not to disturb any thoughts he might be pondering, I slowly made my way to him. “I wondered how much longer I’d have to wait for my wife to join me,” he said, voice low.

          Stopping alongside him, I laid a hand on his arm and looked out across the landscape. I could see the Bifrost and the conservatory, nearly complete after Thor destroyed it, at the very edge of Asgard. The sea rolled in dark swells, meeting the sky on the far off horizon. Night-time in this realm was a beauteous sight to behold. The sky was deepest midnight blue with swirls of red, green and yellow swirling across it. It was so much more than just stars; the sky was alive here, all the branches of Yggradsil radiating out from this one central point. From Asgard.

          “I hope the sluggishness of my attendants did not wear your patience down too much, milord,” I replied, raising my head to look up at him. Starlight hit his face, sharply etching his cheekbones and chiselled jawline into sharp relief. He was beautiful, ethereal. Truly god-like.

          “I’d wait another thousand years for you,” he declared, looking down at me. Unclasping his hands, he reached around and put two of his long fingers under my chin and raised it higher, so I was looking into his green eyes. “Sigyn.”

          “Yes, husband,” I replied, my voice thick.

          “You are my wife. As your husband, I wish you to call me by my name.”

          “Loki,” I demurred, loving the feel of his name on my lips, the way I moved my tongue to form it. “Loki, my love.”

          “Yes?” he asked

          “Nothing. I just like the way it feels,” I explained, biting my lip to prevent myself from chuckling. Despite all that had led up to that moment, I did enjoy saying his name. There was something exotic, sensual about it.

          “Soon,  _I_  shall like the way it sounds when I hear you crying out my name, over and over. You will know no name but mine.”

          I swallowed, unsure how to respond. I was nearly vibrating with eagerness and he seemed to be doing nothing but dragging this out. Yes, indeed I wanted him to kiss me, for my body to meld itself to his. I wanted to tangle my fingers in his long raven hair, to sigh into his neck. I desired to feel his warm touch as he pushed my nightgown off my shoulders and down my body. To moan his name as we made love. He spoke of how he would have waited a millennium for me; I was certain I couldn’t even last five more minutes.

          “How innocent you look,” he mused, gazing into my eyes. “But by how your porcelain skin flushes, how your heart flutters, I can tell you are aflame. Tell me, Sigyn.” Leaning in close to my face, his voice dropped lower, more intimate. “Do you ache for me?”

          “Oh, God, you have no idea,” I breathed.  _Stop teasing me!_  I was screaming inside.

          “I think I do,” he replied, kissing me before I could disagree.

          Surrendering to his kiss, I wrapped my arms around him, holding him to me with every ounce of my feeble mortal strength. The fingers he had under my chin slid down my throat to my décolletage, trailing along the low neckline until it got to my shoulder, which he grasped. His other arm snaked around my waist, pulling me closer against him.

          “This is your first time is it not?” he posed, his hand moving from my shoulder to the back of my neck. I nodded, feeling sheepish. He was decorous enough in the past to rarely mention his previous lovers, but I knew that with the thousands of years he had lived, there must have been hundreds of women that he has bedded. Even now, I could only hope that, as his wife, I would indeed be his last. Not only was he a powerful deity compared to my frail human self, he was far, far more experienced than I. “I shall be gentle, my delicate Midgardian flower. I do not wish, now or ever, to hurt you,” he affirmed, winding his long fingers through the hair at the back of my neck and gently tugging on it, forcing my face upward.

         I was grateful when he leaned in and kissed me for I did not know how to respond to his affirmation. Somehow I doubted that this would be without pain but I did not want him to sense my anxiety. Surely there was a possibility that as a mortal, I was in physical peril for mating with a god, but just as with everything else, I had to trust that he knew what he was doing.

         He moved his hands to my hips and spun me around so that my back was to him. “I must get these rags off you. They are not fit to touch the skin of a goddess.”

         “Shall I remain naked then?” I sassed, unable to hold my tongue. “If no clothes are worthy enough to cover it?”

         I felt the vibration of Loki’s laugher as he wrapped his arms around my waist and pressed his lips to my neck. “Tonight, indeed.” He moved his hands to ease the dress down my arms and over my hips, letting it fall to the floor. “Nothing shall come between your skin and mine.” Unimpeded by the silk of my nightgown, he ran his hands up the sides of my body and cupped my breasts in his large hands, pressing them into my body, rubbing his thumbs over the taught peaks. I felt the pit of my stomach lurch at the new sensations rolling through my system; I shivered in his arms and moulded myself perfectly to the way his body was hunching as he pressed his lips against my neck, his teeth nicking at the side of my throat and shoulder. Sliding my hands up my hips, I ran them up my body to cover his as he turned his face, slowly moving his lips against mine, drawing my tongue to explore his mouth.

          I was caught just as unaware as before when he abruptly spun me again. Startled, I used my arm and hand to cover my exposed breasts, crossing my legs and hunching inward, my other hand pressed against my pelvis, naively attempting to hide my nakedness. Facing away from him, he could not see the majority of the bodily flaws I saw in myself but the way that his eyes travelled the length of my body, lingering on my chest, belly, and the way that he twitched when his breath hitched upon reaching the apex of my thighs, I knew he was seeing all the parts I was grateful to keep well covered. The pale stretch marks that marred my skin like faded scars, a roadmap of my all-too-rapid transition to womanhood, the bulge of my stomach, the untrimmed tangle of wiry hair at the nethermost point of my torso… the inferno that had spread across my skin during the ball morphed into a blaze of mortification that burned scarlet across my cheeks.  

         I blushed at my reaction when Loki smiled devilishly. “It hardly matters for you to attempt to maintain your modesty, wife. Not on this of all nights.” He took the hand that was pressed against my pelvis and guided it to the hem of his tunic. “Undress me.” Dimly, I registered disappointment. Having noticed my reaction, reassurance, an affirmation of beauty would have been gratifying. Betrayed by lust, my limbs seemed to be under the control of a puppeteer as I moved closer and pulled the green fabric up, exposing a trail of soft, dark curls that pointed to the lacing on his trousers. While he pulled it over his head and extricated his arms, I dared to run my palms up the rippling muscles of his abdomen to his shoulders, placing a couple of light kisses in the hollow between his well-defined pectorals, my fingers sliding down the side of his neck, over his shoulder, and the length of his arm. Though not as overtly muscular as most men in Asgard, there was no denying that Loki would still be a force to be reckoned with in physical combat. Pads of my fingers gliding across the smooth planes of his chest, the fire reawakened. This beautiful creature was  _mine._

          Tilting my chin upward, he lowered his lips to mine as my fingers wove with his, our arms winding about the others like a vine on a trellis. The fingers of my free hand toyed with the cord that closed the fly of his pants, eager to release what was beneath. Tugging on one end, I undid the knot and pulled it from the grommets, allowing the sides to fall open as I dropped the thread to the floor. “You’re going to have to do more than that if you wish to become a true wife tonight, my bride,” he urged, thrusting his hips forward ever so slightly.

          Ignoring the taunt, I gripped the waist of the pants and eased them down his slim hips, freeing the organ that had been straining against the leather. “Much better,” he declared, stepping out of the garment.

          Though I was a virgin, I was not wholly innocent, but I found it hard not to act like a maid. I found myself staring intently, not knowing where to rest my eyes. Fully unclothed, Loki was as sleek and powerful as a jaguar. Firelight reflected in the shine of his eyes, dancing with devilish merriment at my discomfiture; even the throbbing length of his member seemed arrogant as it proudly stood out from his body. Flickering light seemed to heighten the effect that despite his lithe frame, Loki was dangerous.

          I didn’t have much time to inspect his body before he scooped me up and carried me to the bed, gently laying me out on the emerald sheets. Unfamiliar with the ancient language spoken here, I could not understand the words muttered by Loki as he knelt beside the bed and spread my knees wide, his eyes flicking to mine as I was laid open before him. All I understood was the lust sparkling in their depths, the naked need for physical intimacy.

          I was in no way unused to the touch of my own hand, but was wholly unprepared for the sensation of the fingers of another probing my most intimate places. The mystery of where his fingers would go next drove me to insanity, but not so much as when he raised up and, without ado, leaned in to suck at my clit, already tender from the rush of arousal. Electricity shot through my veins like lightening, my hands clawing at the silk sheets, fighting for purchase on the slick material. My back arched, forcing his fingers deeper inside me as I felt my muscles tighten around them. Incoherently I struggled to find my voice; it seemed absurd to cry out to an unseen deity when one of flesh and blood was worshipping at the temple that was my body, coaxing forward a benediction of his own. “Loki,” I breathed, exhaling his name.

          "You’re ready,” he informed me, removing his wet fingers and inserting them into his mouth and slowly pulling them out again. “I can taste it.”

          I wasn’t as sure but pinned beneath him, there was little I could do to protest. I quivered as I felt the tip of his cock bump against my tender skin. “Relax, beloved,” he calmed as he began to ease into me.

          He had barely begun to penetrate me when I cried out and writhed away from him. The pain was worse than I had anticipated. It felt as if he was trying to push his way straight through my pelvic bone. Tears sprang to my eyes and my torso twisted as my body instinctively took over, trying to get away from the source of the agony. I whimpered and feeling shame burning on my face, I turned my head away from him.

          “Sigyn?” he asked, confused. His brows furrowed as he took in my juddering form. Where there had been pleasure, now there was pain. I was too humiliated to answer him. I was a failure. Never would we join our bodies in marriage, never would I bear his child… a small, high-pitched cry emanated from my throat, the only sound I could make.

          Seeming to soften, he leaned in and pressed his lips to my ear. “Shhhh,” he urged. “Let go.” He moved his body up a few inches until my eyes were level with his jawline. Using his hands to steady my hips, he slowly attempted to enter me again.

          I had anticipated discomfort my first time, but this was above that. The sensation as he slowly pushed further into my hot, tight canal was of burning, as if something inside me was tearing. “Relax,” I repeated to myself, willing my muscles to unclench to allow him to press his full length into me. Tears spilled from my eyes, just as much from the pain as from the knowledge that I would wake up tomorrow, left on Midgard from whence I came.

          “Put your leg around me,” he whispered, running one of his hands down my thigh to my knee, hoisting it high around his slim waist. Moving his body back down a few inches, I felt the last inch of him fill me. Deep in the pit of my stomach, I felt slightly queasy from the intrusion. It felt natural yet unnatural. Foreign.

          I nodded, biting the inside of my cheek, afraid attempting to speak would result in whimpers of distress. He did not say it, but it was obvious he perceived my deceit. I was somewhat surprised when he smiled slightly, a genuine grin, and leaned in to kiss me. The distraction worked somewhat; his slow withdrawal and deliberate re-entry was unexpected and therefore met with less anguish.

          Though the discomfort was beginning to lessen, the pleasure I had anticipated was nowhere. I distinctly felt the sensation of his rigidness sliding in and out of my body but the body-buckling, toe curling desire that rocked me earlier was absent. Concentrated around the place where our bodies met was a tingling, a tease of those feelings, but it extended no further than that. With every other pump of his hips, the burning feeling that began when he first pushed his way in threatened to force my bladder into emptying. Why hadn’t I taken a few moments to visit the water closet before I stepped into the bedroom? I sniffed, tearing up anew.

          I could tell by the spasms that began to rock his body, by the erratic rhythm of his thrusts, that his orgasm was nigh but my own body vainly waited for release. Mentally I attempted to override the lingering discomfort, to will the isolated tingling throughout my nervous system, but it was futile. I wanted to be stroked, petted; the sensations he had awoken with his teasing tongue were left unfulfilled as he gritted his teeth and shuttered. With his final moans, I felt the sheets beneath me become sodden with the wetness of his spent seed and my own arousal. Grunting, he rested his full weight on me, his breath hot on my ear as he exhaled. I was stark still for a moment before stirring, attempting to push him off me, but I was not strong enough.

          “Please, Loki,” I pleaded. “I need a moment.”

          “As you wish,” he said with mock sincerity. He rolled over, allowing me to scramble out of the bed, nearly falling to the floor when I misjudged the distance I was from the edge. Fleeing to the washroom, I closed the door and opened the faucet in the huge marble tub. Steam filled the space as hot water began pouring into the basin, a thick veil between me and the debacle that had just occurred in the next room. After using the toilet, I stepped into the bath and sat down, sighing as the hot water hit my lower abdomen. It agitated the lack of satisfaction I felt, drawing my fingers down to the cleft between my legs, finishing the job myself. After the last of my convulsions ceased, I no longer had anything to distract me from what a failure my Wedding Night had been. While Loki lounged between the ruined silk sheets of our marriage bed, I pulled my knees to my chest and, wrapping my arms around them, wept until the first grey light of morning crept across the floor and I fell asleep in now-tepid water.

 

          I was awoken by the slight clattering of metal on metal. Opening my eyes, I saw a kitchen girl meekly set a serving tray on the table in front of the balcony arches and scurry out again, her face flushed. I did not remember coming back into the bedroom; I suspected that after I did not re-emerge from the bathroom, Loki must have come looking for me, bringing me back and tucking me back under the covers. Now I was alone in the room, Loki nowhere to be seen.

           Placing my feet on the floor, I wrapped the emerald top sheet around my body and I padded across the room to inspect the repast. I lifted the dome off one dish and inhaled the scent of ham in a thick, smoky-smelling sauce. Another revealed a plate of herb-roasted potatoes cubed and drizzled in olive oil. A rack with several slices of toast and a pitcher of apple-citrus water rounded out the meal. Stomach growling with hunger, I did not bother to pick up utensils or put the food on a separate plate. Holding the sheet tight around me with one hand, I reached out and grabbed a few bits of potato and indecorously shoved them in my mouth.

            “Good morning,  _älskling,_ ” cooed Loki, coming up behind and wrapping his arms around my waist. “How do you fare this morning?”

            “Hungry,” I deadpanned, pulling off a chunk of bread and dipping it in the sauce.

            He chuckled and tightened his hold, burying his chin in the hollow between my neck and shoulder. “As am I.”

            My hand stopped mid-movement, a trickle of brown liquid dripping down my forearm. I knew he was not referring to food. Baiting Loki was dangerous, but I could not resist. Instead of popping the piece of bread into my own mouth, I offered it to Loki. He enclosed my wrist with his fingers, guiding it to his lips; he licked the sauce off my arm before biting into the toast. “Mmm,” he hummed, pulling on my arm so that I turned to face him. “Delicious.”

            His eyes swept me up and down, lingering on the hand that held the fabric fast around my body. “Isn’t it lonely, the only one between that sheet?”

            I gulped, my throat dry. My hand itched, wanting to break out of his grasp and grab the ewer so that I might quench my sudden thirst. It was transparent what he wanted, but I was not ready. Not yet. Would I ever be ready to endure the pain, the indignity of what I had experienced in the midnight hours? Desperately I wanted to enjoy marital coupling but his callous indifference to my discomfort after vowing never to hurt me caused me to distrust him. There was no guarantee the second time would be any easier than the first.

          Still processing my thoughts, he slowly pulled me to him, reaching out with his free arm and pulling a wedge of an apple from the water pitcher. He ran the wet, fleshy part of the fruit down the side of my neck and across my collarbone. “These are apples from Iduna’s orchard,” he explained as he leaned in toward the coalescing droplets of moisture on my skin. “The source of our immortality.” Lips pressing against my throat, he began licking and sucking at the liquid, dropping the apple slice to the floor and placing his hand square on my hip. Prying my fingers off the sheet with the other hand, he laced his fingers through mine and held them behind my back, rendering it impossible for me to prevent the sheet from falling away from my body.

           At any time I could had protested, said no, but my own curiosity silenced me. I allowed him to run his hands over my body, taking inventory of every mark and curve from the freckles scattered across my shoulders to the birthmark on my left calf. There was no hiding the imperfections in the bright light of day.

           But, I realised, that extended to him as well. Running my hand over his skin as I walked around him, I noticed Loki himself had a smattering of pale freckles on his scapulae and several thin scars, one of which lashed diagonally across his back. Tentatively I traced it with my fingers, pressing my lips to the origin of the mutilation. There was tenderness anew in his grasp as he took my hand and manoeuvred me around to face him again, getting to his knees and wrapping his arms around my waist, circling my navel with his tongue.

           Slowly, he pulled me down with him, cradling me as he laid me out on the floor, the golden sunlight sparkling off my skin. Flicking his wrist, a small pile of pillows appeared; kneeling on two,he positioned a third under the hollow in the small of my back, while I used the remaining to cushion the back of my head from the hard stone floor. Hooking my knee over his shoulder, he gently eased into me for a second time, proceeding only once I nodded my head slightly.

          “Open your eyes,” he coached as he gradually moved inside me. Against every instinct in my body, my eyelids fluttered open, meeting his gaze. I was surprised by the softness in his eyes, replacing the hard edge of malice that normally shone. “Put your hands on me.”

          I obeyed, laying one palm on the soft curve of his backside and rested the other on the back of his neck. This was so different from last night; still slightly uncomfortable, still lacking the satisfaction I had always associated with the idea of sex, but more intimate. As if reading my mind, he licked his fingers and reached down to touch the wet nub that was aching for his touch.

          Then it happened. A spasm of sheer, liquid pleasure rolled through me from my waist down and then extended throughout my body, the first since he had used his mouth to tease me last night. Reacting to the feeling, my back arched, matching the down thrust of his hips perfectly. As my backside settled on the pillow again, I grasped at the hair on the back of his neck, yanking his face to mine. I needed to taste his wet kisses, to demand the attention of his tongue as the rhythm of our hips synced more with every thrust, quicker, deeper, more aggressive.

          My muscles tensed as the newfound sense of euphoria built up inside my veins, coursed through my limbs, pushed further and further with every pump of his hips, every beat of my heart. Pointing my toes, my legs went rigid as my climax hit me with such force I lost my breath. Any strangled sounds of ecstasy that I might have made were muted when he pressed his mouth to mine again, breathing the moans of his release into me. 

          Panting, I instinctively I curled my body into Loki’s seeking warmth from the chill of the ancient stones beneath us. Content, I had no motivation to move from the floor but I did not need to; after a few minutes, he picked me up and carried me to the bed, laying me out on the silken sheets, stretching out next me.

          Pulled by magnetism, I rolled onto my side and reached out to him, pulling his face to mine. I obliged when he enclosed my wrist with his fingers and pulled, settling on his back. Rolling with him, I placed my knees on either side of his hips, straddling him. My hands ran up the muscles of his abdomen, over his pectorals, to his shoulders. I cradled the sides of his head between my hands, my thumbs in front of his ears. I smiled to myself, intoxicated by the way his lips were slightly parted, his breathing heavy with anticipation.

          Cock thickening against my thighs, I took the initiative and used my hand to help guide him into me. I felt a sense of power as I rode him, setting my own pace despite the grip he had on my hips. In my daydreams before the wedding I imagined that, as a god, Loki would react differently to climaxing, but looking down on him as his fingers dug into the fleshiness of my backside as he came, I knew that I had been wrong. I had heard him raise his voice in domination, but the sounds of his submission were even headier, the way he bared his clenched teeth, the contrast of his lashes against his cheekbones as he closed his eyes…

          Spent, I slowly fell onto my back, panting. “You certainly adjusted to the conjugal act with aplomb,” he lauded.

          “Second nature,” I explained, yawning. “Nothing to it.”

          I had not realised that I fell asleep until I was awoken by Loki’s cool fingers caressing my foot. “How did you come by this?” he inquired, running his finger along the shiny scar that marred the skin on the top.

          He was kneeling at the foot of the bed, peering at me as he awaited my answer. “I was involved in an accident. Broke the joint and the doctors had to insert two screws to ensure the bones would grow back together correctly. See? The scar on the side of my foot? That was the second screw. That injury nearly cost me employment with S.H.I.E.L.D.”

          “I have no patience with Midgardian transport,” he stated, correctly assuming my accident was of a vehicular nature. “Why would I choose to utilise such means when I have magic at my disposal?”

          “Why indeed,” I agreed as he began examining my calves. “What, pray tell, are you looking for?”

          “I wish to be familiar with your body. You are my responsibility and I desire to be able to recognise any part of you at a moments’ notice.”

            _His responsibility._  I wanted to refute his assertion, but I could not. He had brought me to Asgard and no matter the circumstances of our union, I was a mortal in a realm of gods. There was no room for argument: I was his obligation. Suddenly I felt helpless.

          Scrambling from the bed, I darted to the table where the breakfast tray still sat and poured myself a glass of water. I drank it a bit too fast and began coughing as a bit of apple lodged itself in the back of my throat, tickling my windpipe. Loki unexpectedly appeared at my side, grabbing my shoulder and turning me to face him. Handing me another glass of water (sans fruit), he placed two fingers on my throat, massaging my trachea as I gulped more liquid. Sputtering, I gasped for air as the apple dislodged itself and my coughing subsided. “Are you well now?” he asked, right eyebrow cocked. There was no anxiety on his face, no concern. He was just taking care of his  _responsibility._

          “I am well, yes,” I reassured, more for my own benefit than his. Gazing absently over the gleaming, sunlit city, I drained the rest of the water. Truthfully I was tired and hungry. Giving in to my mortal needs, I fixed a plate of food and took it to a sofa situated in front of a huge stone fireplace, reclining as I nourished myself with the food brought in by the serving girl earlier.

          Loki also fixed himself a plate and took a seat on the floor, resting his back against the arm of the sofa. I finished mine before he did and took the opportunity to comb my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. The action felt more intimate even that our lovemaking. Sex was expected; it was contractual to the bonds of marriage. This was more familiar, a show of affection. I was worried he would object to it, but he hummed and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back toward me. “He trusts me,” I realized. I could have pulled my breakfast knife across his throat or plunged it into his heart but yet he seemingly had let his guard down momentarily. “Or perhaps he is merely testing your for trustworthiness,” my mind continued. I was well aware of the fact that Loki trusted no one. In that moment, it didn’t matter. I wanted nothing but to marvel at how domestic the moment felt. Both of us, lounging naked and drowsy with satisfaction.

          I did not protest when he got to his knees and turned around, quietly pulling at my feet until I was in a sitting position, my feet on the floor. Cupping my kneecaps with his palms, he moved my legs apart, his hands running up and down my thighs. Situating his body between them, he cradled my face in one of his sturdy hands, leaning in to kiss me. But this wasn’t a kiss just because we were just married or because it was part and parcel with intercourse; no, there was genuine tenderness in how his lips moved against mine, the way his thumb rubbed across my cheekbone.

          Surrendering to his desires, he wrapped his arm around my neck, his palm cradling the back of my head, fingers tangled in my hair, a feral quality to his kisses that I had never experienced before. My mouth longed to form the words, to whisper “I love you” into his ear, but I resisted. Though they often kept close company, I knew this was lust rather than love. Certainly in the short time between our first encounter on the hellicarrier and our marriage I had grown affectionate toward him despite his personality and everything he had done. Despite, even, my own reassurances that I would not succumb so quickly and easily.

          We held each other tight as we continued to kiss, my lust building to a peak. I responded with abandon when he crouched down, grabbing my hips and yanking them forward, diving in and lapping at the fountain of my desire. Just when my muscles were clenching in anticipation of release, I tugged on the fistfuls of hair in my hands, using my temporary domination to direct him onto the sofa next to me. Without hesitation, allowing myself to be ruled only by instinct, I slid to the floor and pushed his knees apart, leaning in and taking him in my mouth.

          Nearing release, he abruptly grabbed my wrist and stood, pulling me to my feet. Dragging me to one of the arches, he wrapped my arms around it and then bent down to grab one of my calves, pulling my leg back as he straightened. I cried out as he took me from behind, shivering at the feel of his teeth pulling at my ear, the way he nibbled at the hollow between neck and shoulder. When I slumped into him, the last echoes of our shared rapture sounding over the city, I felt secure.

          In Asgard, in Loki’s arms, was where I was fated to be.        

 

          I retrieved the discarded nightgown from the floor and pulled it on, letting the cool silk caress my flushed skin. I wanted nothing more than to hurry back to the bed and slide up against Loki, retreating back into our own world. It seemed cruel that not only was day already upon us, we had to begin going about the business that this new morning brought. What business I knew not, but I had a feeling that it was important.

          I took a seat at the vanity in my dressing room and pulled the tasselled rope, summoning my attendants. Waiting for their appearance, I evaluated myself in the mirror. The same face I had evaluated after the wedding feast looked back at me, but the reflection was different in subtle ways. My cheeks held a heretofore unseen glow, as if the very sun that shone on Asgard radiated from within my skin. The smile on my plump, rosy lips was the most genuine, contented one that I had ever seen, hinting at secrets that I kept only unto myself. Others might not see the superficial transformation that I had undergone at the skilled touch of my husband and lover, but in the afterglow of our lovemaking, I was a changed woman.

Lost in my reverie, I barely heard the chestnut haired handmaiden enter the room. “Good morning, Your Highness,” she greeted demurely, curtsying. “How may I assist you this morning?”

          Unwilling to tear my eyes away from the beauty reflected back in the mirror, I ran my fingers through my tangled hair. “I’d like to bathe before I begin my day.”

          “Yes, m’lady. Would you like me to add attar of roses to the water?”

          I nodded. “Yes, please.”

          Dropping a tiny curtsey, she scurried back out of the room. No sooner had she left than the door opened again and Loki quietly walked in. I turned in my seat, a broad smile spreading across my face.

          “You look lovely, darling,” he complimented, reaching out for my hand.

          I raised my arm and placed my palm in his, rising to my feet. “And you, love, look just as handsome after a night of pleasure as you do following a battle. Perhaps even more so, devoid of your armour.”

          He chuckled as he placed a kiss on my knuckles. “I bask in the glow of your adoration.”

          “I aim only to please,” I replied, winking at him. I felt myself blush once again, only this time it was a slow burn rather than the inferno from the night before, a delicious smoulder that I revelled in.

          Loki raised his other hand and tucked my hair behind my ear, making sure his fingers trailed along my cheekbone. “I fervently hope you don’t lose that becoming blush when you transform. What a shame it would be that I could no longer see the roses bloom in your cheeks,” he lamented, his voice low and deep.

          “My transformation?” I asked quizzically. I had not realized there was more to becoming Asgardian than citizenship and my marriage.

          “We will be going to Iduna, Goddess of Youth, for that,” he explained. Noticing the alarm registering on my face, he chuckled and pulled me to him. “It is nothing to fear, love. She dares not harm you lest she incur my wrath.”

          “What shall it entail?” I probe, curious. Even with his reassurance, I was not entirely convinced that it was a painless process. Pain for an Asgardian and a human were astronomically different.

          “Apples,” he answered cryptically.

          I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “You have no idea, do you?” I brazenly ask him. Norse mythology spoke often of Iduna and the golden apples she gave to the gods, borne in her box of ash wood; the apples of youth that kept the Aesir from growing old. Yesterday, she had approached us at the banquet and knelt before us, offering her blessing of a long, happy, and fertile marriage. She had taken my hands in hers and welcomed me to Asgard days after my arrival. Of the many goddesses that roamed these halls, Iduna had been amongst the most welcoming, but would that extend to her helping me achieve the longevity that was enjoyed by the rest of the Aesir? “Everybody knows about the golden apples of Iduna, Loki.”

          I had expected him to be furious with me for deigning to call him out, but instead he threw his head back and laughed. “Darling, you have come to know me far too well,” he conceded. “This is an unprecedented event, the conversion of a Midgardian to a citizen of Asgard. Never before in all the millennia has this been done. You are to be the first, the last, and presumably the only. You, darling, are truly one of a kind.” As if to punctuate his statement, he bent his head, his lips soft and warm against mine.

          Apparently still not satisfied after last night, I reached down and pulled up on the hem of his tunic, intending to bed my husband once again. He chuckled and pulled his face away from mine, using his long fingers to pry my hand from his garment. “We haven’t the time now, love. The next time I take you, you will be immortal.” He leaned in again, this time his lips at my ear. “And inexhaustible,” he teased. “But yes, I do know what the transformation shall entail. I happened upon the ritual in my time as King of Asgard, hidden deep in the recesses of the library. If Odin had been able to use his magic to turn Thor mortal, why could the reverse not be true? There will be a potion and a charm cast by three of Asgard’s most powerful sorceresses. Three to emulate the Three Norns who live in the roots of Yggdrasil. What I do not know is how long the full process will take and if there will be any discomfort.” Sensing my apprehension, he pulled me into his arms and held me close.

          Behind us, the door opened and I heard my handmaids’ soft tread as she came back into the room. I turned my head ever so slightly and quickly kissed his cheek, squeezing the hand that had prevented me from disrobing him. “I’ll be along soon, love.”

          He released me and walked to the door, pausing to look back at me. “Don’t take too long, wife,” he requested.

          With a wink, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now married, it is time for the final step in the process of becoming Asgardian; Loki makes a promise but is he good for his word or is it just a beautiful ruse?

          Dressed in a traditional Asgardian gown of eggplant silk with a stole of gold and a belt of cognac-hued leather with an intricate pattern of vines and flowers hand embroidered on it, I met Loki in the stables an hour later. He was feeding Sleipnir a handful of oats and speaking to him in hushed tones. I smiled warmly at them both as I hitched up the hem of my gown and stepped in the stall. Obviously pleased, Sleipnir whinnied and pawed at the ground, his hooves causing quite a clatter. I laughed and reached out, stroking his muzzle. “Good morning, handsome!” I greeted as he nuzzled my hand. “I hope you enjoyed the apples I sent to you last night.”

          He whinnied again and Loki smiled, brushing his hands together to get rid of any leftover bits of grain. The horse whinnied again, nodding his great head. I took that to be a yes; that he did indeed appreciate the treat I sent from the wedding banquet. “Your mother told me that you had quite a fondness for the fruit.” I leaned in and placed a quick kiss on the velvety soft spot between Sleipnir’s eyes. “There will be plenty more where those came from.”

          Loki ran his fingers through his sons’ mane, his eyes shining with pride. While the initial shock had worn off, I was still getting used to the fact that, in the form of a mare, my husband had foaled Sleipnir himself. Honestly, it was something I preferred not to think about, but I was determined to see past this and accept Sleipnir as my child as well. It was easy with Hel; she was a charming girl who shared many qualities with her father. I had met Fenrir only twice and Jörmungandr, banished to the oceans of Midgard, and I had yet to be introduced. Loki was able to communicate with Sleipnir but I was not certain if I ever would. It was a mystery to me how they were able to converse, but I hoped in time that I would be able to connect with my step-child without needing Loki to act as interpreter.

          “Sleipnir asks what you wish to be called,” Loki translated, his fingers still running through the long black mane of the great eight-hooved horse. Both of them were looking steadily at me, Sleipnir’s large black eyes unblinking. I felt a sense of panic rising in me; I did not know how to respond. What did I want Sleipnir to call me? Obviously not ‘Mother’. That was Loki. Selfish as it might be, would it even matter? Son of Loki or not, Sleipnir was a  _horse_. There was a huge communication barrier between us that I doubted would ever be breached.

          Pushing my unease aside, I looked the horse straight in the eye and rubbed my hand along his neck. “You may call me whatever you wish, son. May I call you son?”

          With what can only be described as a happy neigh, I laughed again when Sleipnir nuzzled the side of my face. “I understand that to be a yes, then!” I said happily. “And a handsomer son I’ve never seen!”

          To my right, Loki cleared his throat. I glanced at him and saw the smile on his face. “Although the Allmother might disagree,” I teased.

          Shaking his head good-naturedly, Loki stepped toward me and wrapped his arm around my waist. “Sleipnir wonders if there are any other, Midgardian forms of ‘Mother’ he might use.”

          I pursed my lips, thinking through all the many forms of that word used in the realm of my birth. Which one would I suggest? French? Greek? No, I simply wanted to be called something undemanding, warm, and nurturing. “Mummy is popular in the United Kingdom, a place I always loved. I’d love it if you called me ‘Mummy’ or ‘Mum’ for short.”

          Loki and I laughed as Sleipnir neighed and tossed his head, one of his hooves pawing at the ground. “He likes it!” my husband declared, placing a quick kiss on the side of my head. “Mother and Mummy, together with Sleipnir!”

          We spent just a few more minutes in the stall before leaving to saddle our own horses. During my time as the paramour of the future King of the United Kingdom, I had become an accomplished rider. Here on Asgard, horseback was the main means of transportation. Various residents, such as Freyja and her falcon form, here had other, unique means of travel, but for day to day, mounting a horse was how Asgardians got from place to place. It would have been easy for me to saddle and bridle my own steed, but Loki ordered a stable hand to perform the task for me. “You are a goddess and a Princess of Asgard,” he justified. “You never have to perform such menial tasks again.”

         “They are ready, my lord,” the stable hand said, bowing his head. “Just outside the stable door.”

         “Thank you, boy. You are dismissed to your regular tasks,” Loki responded, walking past the boy without a second glance. Hurrying along behind my husband, I made eye contact with the boy and gave him a smile. His brown eyes widened in surprise at my gesture; apparently, he had not expected such a show of appreciation from the wife of the god of Mischief.

          I stopped short when I saw the two horses standing outside the stable, waiting patiently for us. A huge black stallion with a saddle of black inlaid with bronze was obviously Loki’s. Beside it was a slightly smaller, but just as majestic, white mare. Her saddle was of rich brown leather, simple but elegant. A saddle blanket of aubergine, the colour I had chosen to represent me, protected her skin from any chafing caused by the beautiful saddle. Extending my hand, I walked forward and ran my palm over her nose, gently stroking the warm, velvety softness.

          “She’s beautiful,” I declared, still in awe of the magnificent creature.

           “She’s yours,” Loki said, coming up behind me. “My gift to you on the occasion of your transformation.”

           “Mine?” I asked, grasping the reins and running them through my fingers. The leather was supple and perfectly tanned; over time, it would acquire a beautiful patina. Really looking at the saddle this time, I realized that the saddle was a side saddle. Luckily I was proficient enough in riding such that I was not intimidated by it.

          “Yours,” he reiterated, wrapping his arm around my middle. “Three years old and the offspring of one of Odin’s war horses. A magnificent steed for a goddess.”

          “Thank you darling. It’s too grand.” I turned toward him and kissed him, feeling a tear slide down my cheek.

          He raised a gloved hand and caught the tear on his finger, gently wiping it away. “Cry not, Sigyn, love. ‘Tis not a day for tears,” he reassured, kissing my forehead.

          “I’m overwhelmed with bliss,” I explained, laughing lightly as he ran his thumb across my cheekbone, whisking away more tears. “All of this…” I began.

          “And more besides,” he finished. “Yours. Yours and mine. Ours, Sigyn.  _Ours._  All of this will be ours, I promise.” He said it with such conviction that there was no way I could doubt his pledge. Together, when the time was right, we would make our move. As he kissed me again, I knew that until that time came, I was content to spend my days just as this.

 

          Since my arrival in Asgard, I had been no further into the city than the palace gardens. Just as Loki was still imprisoned, I was a virtual captive within the walls of the palace until Odin had come to a decision regarding what to do with the Midgardian woman his criminally wayward son brought back with him. The streets of Asgard were not as I had expected. The palace was almost garishly shiny in some areas, but out here, it was more like riding through a Renaissance village. Large domiciles of stone and timber lined the streets, ivy and bougainvillea climbing the walls. Trees with delicate white blossoms, bushes, and flowers dotted the yards that led right up to doors carved with beasts from Norse mythology. The further out we rode, the sparser the housing became. The manors became larger, the walls higher, the gardens larger. At the very end of the cobblestone street, we were met by an imposing bronze gate at least ten feet tall. Cast in the dully gleaming bronze was a huge fruit bearing tree, the branches with their leaves and harvest embossed on the panels. It was a stately entrance to what I suspected was the mansion belonging to the goddess Iduna and her spouse, the god Bragi.

          Bringing our horses to a stop, Loki dismounted and ambled to the door, reaching for a large, round bronze door knocker. Three dull thuds echoed as he banged it against the door, announcing our arrival. He waited a few seconds before turning away and walking back toward where the horses and I waited. “Be not fretful, dearest Sigyn,” he comforted, stroking my horses’ neck. “Behind Frigga, Iduna is the most kind-hearted goddess in Asgard.”

          “I am not anxious. I am in truth full of excitement,“ I reassured him, smiling. “All of this is a journey into the unknown. I crave such adventures.” I shifted in my saddle, but my smile became a wince as the movement aggravated the soreness from our marital union. Biting the inside of my lip to keep from crying out, I felt a tear well along my lower lash line. I did not want Loki to see my discomfiture. Yesterday, in his arms, I had never felt more human, more alive. Today, on the eve of near immortality, I was seemingly paying the price for my feeble, mortal body.

          In one quick step to the side, Loki was beside where I sat in my saddle. He reached up and gently pried my hands off the reins, holding my palms in his. “Are you well, dear wife?” Running his thumbs over the top of my hands, he looked up at me, his green eyes concerned.

          “Yes, Loki, I am well. Do not trouble yourself,” I reassured, smiling down on him.

          “I saw pain flicker across your face,” he continued. “What has caused you harm?”

          I lifted my right hand from his palm and cradled his face, running my thumb along his cheekbone. “Nothing my new Asgardian body will not be able handle. I am yet a mortal, human, and easily bruised by even the things that elicit pleasure,” I teased.

          Furrowing his brow, he placed his hand on top of mine. “I did not mean to hurt you,” he whispered, astutely having inferred my meaning. “Will you forgive me?”

          I smiled and leaned over in the saddle, ignoring the intense soreness between my thighs. Hands still on his cheek, I kissed him, conveying my forgiveness with nary a word.       

          Ahead of us, the gate silently opened. Loki took a step back from me and took hold of the reins while I sat up straight on my saddle. A man dressed all in white and off white stood in the archway, hands clasped in front of him. Behind him, the large, walled garden extended down to the sea. Trees ripe with hanging fruit and multitudes of lush green plants and fragrant white blossoms grew, encircled by brick paths. It was paradise, the kind of place that one would imagine a goddess walks.

          “Welcome, your highnesses,” the man greeted, bowing to us. “Iduna is expecting you. Please follow me.”

          Still holding the reins of my mount, Loki walked over and grabbed the lead for his stallion. Following the white-clad man into the garden, I held onto the pommel as Loki walked the horses down the paths toward where I assumed the mansion was.

          I gasped when I saw the structure. Stylistically reminiscent of a classical Italian villa, the mansion was of blue and white marble and golden accents. Sunlight shone off the smooth face, reflecting the gardens and the gentle swells of the Sea of Marmora, to which the gardens led down. High arched windows and doorways with fluttering diaphanous white curtains opened up to the gardens. It was the most beautiful building I had ever laid eyes on, fit for the Goddess of Youth and Beauty.

          We stopped in front of another set of bronze doors, these ones decorated with vines of apples and harps, symbols of the deities to which this house belonged. Handing the reins of both horses to the man in white who escorted us, Loki walked around to the side of the horse my legs were draped over and extended his arms, ready to help lift me down from the saddle. I braced my hands on his shoulders while his fit perfectly on my hips as I unhooked my left foot from the stirrup and alighted from my mount. Feet once again on terra firma, I smoothed out my skirts and adjusted my belt, making sure I was at my most presentable. Beside me, Loki watched as I did this, his face unreadable. 

          Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the great bronze doors open outward. Suddenly feeling apprehensive, I shifted closer to Loki but stopped just short of grabbing his hand. Much as I craved the reassuring strength of his fingers laced with mine, there was still a barrier between us despite the familiarity in the day since the wedding. I sensed Loki would not respond well to my need for physical reassurance especially in the presence of others.

         The man in white bowed deeply, sweeping his free hand along the ground. Waiting in the open doorway was a woman of middling height with golden blonde hair flowing down her back, contrasted against the sapphire blue of her gown. Her smile was warm and serene, a welcoming look that fulfilled my need for encouragement.

          “My lord Loki, Lady Sigyn, welcome,” she greeted, walking toward us. Extending her arms, she took my hands and leaned in, air kissing one cheek then the other. Not only was she as lovely as the dawn, she smelled fragrant, like gardenias. Releasing my hands, she turned to Loki and curtsied, dipping her head. “Come,” she urged, once again taking me by the hand and leading the way into the mansion, Loki falling into place behind us ladies. “Hrafn, please take the horses to the stable to be fed and watered,” Iduna instructed over her shoulder.

          The door opened to a large interior hall of white marble arches. She led us to the room on the immediate right and bade us sit on a semi-circular white sofa. The far wall of the room was similar to the wall of arches in our bedroom leading to the balcony but in this manor, the arches opened to a flower lined path to the rolling blue sea. Zephyrs of briny sea air moved through the room, mixing with the scent of the blossoms in beaten gold vases throughout the room. In all my travels, I had never once encountered such a space that invited the gracious indolence to which this room seemed suited. Lazy afternoons with a book with soft music playing filled my imagination, almost distracting me from the reason for why I was here.  

          “Lady Sigyn, please, allow me to again welcome you to Asgardia. I do so hope that we can become friends,” Iduna began, taking a seat across from us. From her earnest words, I could tell she genuinely meant it. She did endeavour to be a friend to me, this Midgardian import. She did not speak with condescension or curiosity. Kind and thoughtful as Loki had reassured me earlier that morning, Iduna truly sought to seek friendship. Her instant warmth made me feel much more at ease about the unknown process I was about to go through.

          “Thank you, Madame Iduna,” I replied. “I have no friends here save dear Loki. I would be grateful and honoured to call you a friend.”

          “Tell me,” she continued conversationally, lacing her fingers together and placing them delicately in her lap. “How is it that you captured the heart of our prince and came to Asgard?”

          Her question caught me off guard. Desperate, I glanced over at Loki, fearful that my words would jeopardize us in the long term. Could I trust the story to this woman? Assurances of friendship notwithstanding, I had not spoken of this to anyone. Barely a second had passed, but while I was still staring at my husband processing my thoughts, he began speaking, telling the story of the human woman he fell for.

          “I met her not during my fools’ errand attempt at conquering Midgard, but on a previous trip to London that I made after… well, Iduna, you know as well as the rest of Asgard what happened when the Bifröst was destroyed,” he explained, lying smoothly. “She was a heart-broken woman recently abandoned by the Midgardian prince whom she so loved. Of a similar desolation, I was drawn to the melancholy aura around her. I felt I had found a kindred spirit; another soul so far from home and just as adrift. Over tea and crumpets in a tucked away café in London, I came to realize just how extraordinary this woman of American origin was.” Pausing, he took my hand and smiled at me, emphasizing his statement. “When I had to depart to rendezvous with the Chitauri, I feared that I would never see her again.”

          Taking advantage of the natural pause is his story, I squeezed his hand for effect and continued, changing and embellishing the story as needed. “I did not know he had returned until I saw the incident in Germany on the news. I knew not where he had gone from there and I was desperate to find him. Before we parted in London, he had mentioned that New York was always a place he had desired to visit. Taking the hint, I took the first train from Washington, where I was then living, to New York City. I had barely arrived when the fighting broke out. Noticing the portal directly above Stark Tower, I rushed there first, somehow navigating my way through the chaos and carnage. I found Loki in the penthouse of the tower, bleeding and in shock after the Hulk’s cruel attack.” I closed my eyes against the memory, which was still so vivid in my mind. Though the version of events we were relaying to Iduna was far from the truth, I had indeed been there on Stark Tower and seen firsthand the injuries the giant green monster had inflicted on Loki. To see him, a proud god laid out as he was, beaten and battered, was as much a shock for me to view as it was for him to have experienced.

          “I had not realised until that time how much control the Tesseract had over me,” Loki continued, his face pallid. “Being knocked about as I was had returned me to my senses. Suddenly, it was clear to me. The love I had been striving for, searching for, from Odin, from Thor… the respect I felt due… this extraordinary woman had it all. Before the Avengers made their way to where I lay, I concealed Sigyn within me, knowing her to be safest there. It was the only way to ensure she would remain with me. That she would be able to travel to Asgard…..” he trailed off, his eyes boring into mine.

          “Love, in its purest form, salves a multitude of wounds,” Iduna said. “It sounds as if you redeemed one another from self-destruction by your affection. It is a beautiful thing to see such love in action.”

          I opened my mouth to respond but was interrupted by echoing footsteps in the hall. Hrafn stood in the doorway and bowed to us. “Milady, Freyja and Queen Frigga await,” he announced.

          “My thanks, Hrafn,” Iduna replied, nodding her head in dismissal. The manservant quickly exited to continue his tasks.

          “Let us not keep Mistress Freyja and Her Majesty waiting,” Iduna urged, getting to her feet. Loki stood and offered me his hand, which I took as I stood. We followed Iduna back into the hall where my mother-in-law stood conversing with another woman in scarlet with long, pale, strawberry blond blonde hair. Their dialogue was truncated by our appearance.

          “Loki, Sigyn!” Frigga greeted, extending her arms toward us. “My children! How fare you this morn?”

          “Mother,” Loki said, embracing the woman.

          “Your Majesty,” I intoned, curtsying. “We are well. And you, ma’am?”

          “Please, child. Call me ‘Mother’,” she encouraged, dispensing with formality as she hugged me.

          “Yes, Mother,” I agreed, smiling.

          “Lady Sigyn, a pleasure to meet you again,” Freyja enthused, taking my hands. “Marriage agrees with you, it seems.”

          I could not help the blush that crept up my cheeks. “So far, so good,” I replied.

          Still smiling, Freyja looked to Iduna. “Where are we to do this, then? I assume you have a room set aside?”

          “I do. Whenever Her Highness is ready,” she confirmed, glancing at me.

          Even though my insides had begun twisting in anxiety, I nodded with as much confidence as I could muster. This was the moment.

          “Follow me,” Iduna insisted, walking down the archway-lined hall, Freyja close behind. I cast a frantic glance behind me at Loki. Last thing I wanted was to appear weak and afraid but I was. Nobody had ever attempted this before and I was to be the first person of Midgardian birth to become Asgardian. In its basest form, I knew that somehow my human mortality would be replaced with the near immortality of the gods. What else was there to be changed? Would I look different? Talk different, think different, act different? Would I lose myself in the process?

          Loki took a step forward but his mother caught his hand. “No, Loki. This she must do alone.”

          “So the news can be broken to me gently?” he said snidely. “This has never been undertaken before, Mother. How am I to know she will be safe?”

          “Do you not trust me?” Frigga asked, placing her palm on her sons’ cheek. “She will be safe. I promise.”

          “I am the one who discovered the ancient process when I possessed the Odinforce. I do not see why I could not have done it myself,” he continued.

          Frigga sighed. “You do not possess the Apples of Youth, my son.” 

          “At one point…”

          “And you are lucky that Iduna bears you no ill will from that incident, Loki,” she reminded him sternly. “Freyja trusted you then with her falcon form; it is now your turn to trust her. There are no finer sorceresses in Asgard than Freyja and Iduna.”

          “Excepting you, Mother,” Loki said pointedly.

          The corners of Frigga’s lips twitched at his observation. “Modesty becomes a monarch, son,” she admonished lightly.

          My husband continued to scowl until I walked back to where he stood. “Darling, I shall be safe in the care of your mother and the ladies Iduna and Freyja. On the morrow, I shall come back to you as an Asgardian. I swear.”

          Frigga stepped back from us, allowing Loki to take my hands. “Do not utter promises you cannot keep,” he whispered, his brow furrowed.

          “Perhaps I cannot keep, but they will. I place my trust in them,” I affirmed with more confidence than I felt.

          “I swear to you Sigyn, if you are harmed, Yggdrasil will burn,” he vowed with such vehemence that I felt my eyes widen with surprise. This exchange, our every word and action since being invited inside Iduna’s palace had been a face, an outward display of affection I could not be sure was truly growing between us, but his assertion was so vehement that I did not for one second doubt he truly would seek vengeance.

          “There will be no need to incinerate the Nine Realms,” I reassured him once I found my tongue. “Use your power as a deity of conflagration to light a fire in the hearth to welcome me home.”

          “As you wish,” he relented, squeezing my hand. “I will not hold you up any further. Fortune go with you, wife.”

          “And with you, dear husband,” I blessed, tilting my chin upward to receive his kiss.

          “Come, daughter,” Frigga urged, laying a hand on my forearm. “Let us not tarry. Iduna and Freyja wait for us.”

          “Yes, Mother,” I conceded. As if in slow motion, I stepped backward, my hands sliding from Loki’s grasp. I gave him one last wan smile and turned, and arm in arm with my mother in law, walked down the hall and away from not only my husband but my humanity.

          Freyja and Iduna waited in a room that, like the sitting area we had first been ushered into, overlooked the sea. In the centre of the space, a high bed with crisp white linens stood. A large wooden chest stood under the window, the sheen of the wood indicating its great age. Otherwise, the room was devoid of furniture. The white walls and floor were sterile and intimidating, compounding my apprehension.

In the far left corner of the room, to the left of the chest, Iduna stood with her back to us, muttering over something. Beside her, Freyja stood serenely, her hands clasped in front of her. Though the room was not crowded, the presence of all four of us seemed to fill the room.

          Standing behind me and to the left, Frigga placed her hands on my shoulders and turned her head to look at me. “Are you ready, my dear?”

          “Yes, Allmother,” I replied.

          She turned her gaze to the blue-clad goddess standing in the corner. “Iduna.”

          Iduna turned to us, a large golden goblet in her hands. “Anastasia Irene Fisher,” she said, “are you ready to fully assume the name of Sigyn Kaarldottír and identity as Citizen of Asgard?”

          I was taken aback at her use of the Midgardian name I had shed only the day previously. I had thought never to hear that name spoke aloud again yet, when she addressed me, I felt something akin to regret stir in my heart. Swallowing my feelings, I nodded, assenting to her query. “I am ready.”

          She extended the goblet toward me, pressing it into my hands as I reached out. “Then we begin. Drink, Your Highness.”

          The liquid in the cup was a vivid heliotrope colour, no doubt made all the more vibrant by the gold of the vessel in which it was held. Bringing it to my lips, it had a pleasant fruity aroma; it was no surprise, therefore when it tasted of apples, the fruit of immortality. I drained the chalice in several gulps, feeling a warm, tingly sensation trilling through my limbs.

          Freyja stepped forward and took the goblet from my hands while Iduna and Frigga led me gently to the bed. “Lie down, dear,” Frigga instructed as I sat down and swung my legs up. I reached under my body and smoothed out my gown where it had bunched up around my knees. “Relax. Breathe,” the queen soothed, smoothing out my hair. She looked up at her companions, glancing from one lovely goddess to the other. “Shall we begin?”

          They nodded. Iduna began muttering in a strange tongue, a language that was completely foreign to me. I had come to understand bits and pieces of the ancient Norse language spoken on Asgard though when I was around most of the citizens spoke in the All-Tongue, allowing me to comprehend in my native English. This, however, contained no words or phrases of the Asgardian tongue with which I was familiar. It was lilting, enchanting. I found myself becoming drowsy as she chanted, spellbound.

          The tingling that I felt after drinking the liquid in the golden chalice was turning to a burning sensation that pulsed through my veins. It crawled across my skin like needles gently pricking my flesh, as if the gown of deep purple silk were smouldering. I closed my eyes and steeled myself for the onslaught of pain that I anticipated would follow this burning.

          I heard Iduna’s voice peter out and Freyja take up what I could now tell was a spell. In the back of my mind, I recalled the myth of Jason and Medea and how, when Jason took a new wife, a jealous Medea sent the bride a bewitched wedding gown. When the bride donned the garment, it burst into flames, burning the bride to death. Was I on fire? Was I burning? Loki had said if I died, he would burn the World Tree. If I burned, would I take the cosmos with me?

          As Frigga picked up from Freyja and continued to practice her seiðr, the magic of Asgard, my mind wandered further, at times all the way back to Midgard. Stories of Joan of Arc, the Wicked Witch from Oz melting onto the flagstone floor of her castle… Snippets of the same poem I thought about when Loki was teasing me behind the curtain after our handclasping ceremony…

          Voices blended and separated, intoning incantations that had become only a background to the anguish I was in. Reaching a crescendo, I wanted to cry out, to release the pain in my body, but I forced myself to remain still and quiet. It felt like forever that I was burning but perhaps it was only minutes. Possibly even seconds.

          Sleep. What sweet relief to fall into blessed slumber. I felt so enervated that I could not have opened my eyes had I wanted to. I did not even try to resist when I felt my consciousness slipping away. Was I dying? This was not how I wanted to perish; I had not even begun to start what I set out to accomplish. I had not made any impression. In the long lives of the Asgardians, I would be merely a blip in their memories, a failed endeavour by their trickster prince to bring a mortal into their midst. I hoped that he would have the decency to somehow return my body to Midgard so those I abandoned would have some way to know what happened to me and a place to mourn. Loki. Yes, I loved him. I had never even told him. Was I to die with my feelings undeclared? Would it matter in the scope of eternity? I was but a mortal…


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following her transformation, Loki and Sigyn begin their Honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are several phrases in Icelandic peppered in this for effect. I used Google Translate (I know, not the most reliable!) but you are welcome to reverse translate if you wish to know what the words are. Enjoy!

          Before I even opened my eyes, I was aware of flowers. Their fragrant aroma surrounded me, enveloped me, pulling me back from the land of the dead. Roses were certainly amongst the blooms, and possibly orange blossoms, but I could not detect the other scents. Still, it was enough to tell me I was alive.

          Opening my eyes, I was startled to be in a room I did not recognize. It was neither the room in Iduna’s palace with the stark white walls nor the room of gold that was the bedroom I now shared with Loki. It wasn’t even the room in which I had slept upon my arrival in Asgard. With the horizontal hewn wooden panelling, it was more like a lodge or cabin rather than a palace. I had a sudden, irrational correlation that wine was stored in wooden caskets to mature; perhaps this was part of the process of my transformation? How absurd, I told myself. I was not a pile of fermented grapes to be turned into nectar. I was a human emerging from the chrysalis of mortality into a goddess.

          As my mind began forming more coherent thoughts, my eyes roamed around the room, taking stock of my surroundings. The flowers I smelled as I awoke were arranged in my hair, which was spread around my head and over the pillow on which I rested. I was in a medieval-looking four poster bed with a tester and curtains of blue velvet with extravagant golden embroidery. Beams of sunlight streamed in a large mullioned window to my left; they were weak and milky, the hazy quality of the sunlight in the mountains. A large fireplace of stone with a heavy, carved mantle was built into the wall and other than two pewter candlesticks, the beautiful mantle was devoid of objects and décor. Without looking at the rest of the room, I knew beside the luxurious materials on the bed, there would be little in the way of personality. This was a room with functionality.

          I made to sit up but a hand on my shoulder gently held me down. “Don’t get up,” Loki urged, taking a seat beside me on the mattress. “How are you feeling?”

          Flexing my fingers and wiggling my toes in their soft velvet slippers, I smiled. “Vital,” I answered. “Fully alive.”

          Breaking into a smile himself, my husband took my right hand in his and brought it to his lips, his left hand still on my shoulder. “Vital. A fine word for a goddess.”

          “Is it done then?” I ask with earnest.

          “It is done,” he confirmed. “You are truly of Asgard now.”

          “Asgardian. I am Asgardian.” I felt such immense power in those three words.  _I am Asgardian_. Physically I felt no weariness from having just awoken but I did not necessarily feel any stronger. I was eager to test my new vigour, to see if I had truly become the physical incarnation of an Asgardian goddess. With smile to assure him I meant to offense, I sat up in the bed and pushed Loki’s hand off my shoulder. Easy enough. Still, I wasn’t sure if it was because I was stronger now or that he had not offered any resistance. Further testing myself, I reached forward and pushed on his back, forcing him to stand lest he be pushed to the floor. Turning back, I saw his eyes twinkling as I placed my feet on the floor and stood.

          “Sigyn?” he asked, amused.

          “Loki?” I replied, cocking my head to the side.

          “What are you doing?”

          “Is it true what you said the morning of my transformation? About being nearly inexhaustible afterward?”

          He raised an eyebrow and I saw the corners of his mouth upturn ever so slightly, almost as if he knew what I was thinking. “Under most circumstances, yes.”

          “Shall we put my stamina to the test first?”

          Highly amused, he pulled me into his embrace, the aroma of leather and cedar blending with the scent of the flowers in my hair. “Of all the things you can do as an Asgardian and you wish for this?”

          “Do not attempt to tell me you are not pleased; would thou be smiling if you weren’t?”

          “I am more than pleased. Of lovers and fighters, you are showing yourself to be a lover.”

          “Do not be so hasty to judge, Loki. You forget how we met.”

          “How could I?” he retorted, his arms holding me tighter. “You certainly proved yourself as a warrior maiden on the S.H.I.E.L.D helicarrier.” He bent his head, lips at my ear. “But this night I want the only battle to be when you fight to find your breath as I impale myself in you. Not even Asgardians are immune to such pleasure.”

          I shivered at his words, closing my eyes as memories from the morning after our wedding flooded my mind. My skin tingled with the anticipation of his touch, like an electric current flowing over the surface. Deep inside, my heart was beating with such vigour that I could feel the pulsating in my fingertips.

          “We have forever,” I reminded him, parting my lips as he kissed me. I tossed an arm around his neck, pushing his face closer to mine. I placed my palm over his heart, feeling the beat matching my own. Fate had brought us together, but together we were masters of our own destiny, a destiny that began that night.

          Slowly we divested each other of our garments, dropping them into an indecorous pile on the wooden floor, my purple striking against the black and emerald of his. Still holding each other tight, I backed up to the edge of the bed and pressing his knee between mine, he laid me down on the mattress. I felt the pit of my stomach drop out when he knelt between my thighs and leaned forward, placing one hand at the base of my skull, twisting his fingers in the hair on the nape of my neck, and the other underneath the small of my back. I ran my left hand down from his shoulder, across the taught muscles of his chest, and down to his hip while his teeth grazed the delicate skin of my throat. As my right hand slithered down the side of his body, I slid my left hand under his arm and grasped his shoulder blade. Muscles hardened and trained by centuries of combat, there was still no way that I could physically hold Loki by my side, but with my arms binding us together, it was obvious that I was indeed stronger than I had been just days before. 

          Chest to chest, Loki rocked back, pulling me upright, my legs stretched out on either side of his kneeling figure. Kissing his way across my collarbone and the hollow of my throat, he raised himself up enough to unbend his legs and straighten them out, moving both of his hands to my hips. Lifting me just enough that I could briefly look down into his deep emerald eyes, he slowly lowered me onto himself, moaning as he settled me in his lap. Throwing my head back, I arched into him, sending the white flowers tumbling from my hair and onto the dark blue sheets of the bed, their white petals like stars in the cosmos. Wrapping my legs tight around him, I dug my heels into his buttocks and raised myself a few inches, removing my hand from his hip and winding it around his neck. Suckling at my breasts, he pulled me back down, every inch of his magnificent manhood filling me. “Ríða!“ I cried, white-hot pleasure lighting up my every nerve ending as I raised my hips up again, matching his rhythm. “Meira, ég bið!“

          “Your wish,“ he hissed, his voice coming from between his clenched teeth, “is my command.” Reaching around, he gripped one of my ankles, pulling my leg higher up as he fell forward, forcing me onto my back, crushing the flowers that had fallen from my tresses. Surrounded by the fragrance of roses, he drove himself deeper into me, reaching between were our bodies were connected to rub his fingers on the tiny little nub at the apex of my thighs.

          “Sing for me, my little bird,” he commanded as I shrieked with pleasure at the touch of his fingers in my most intimate places. “Syngja mér lag um ást.“

          Feeling volcanic pressure building with every stroke of his fingers, with every thrust of his hips, I raked my nails down the back of his shoulder, my cries echoing through the room. “Erfiðara!“

          Crying out in mutual ecstasy, my screams melded with his groans, an opera of gratification. Encircled in his embrace, he held me tighter to him as the pressure inside exploded, blinding me to all but the pleasure that was slowly receding from my body, leaving me trembling in his arms. Simultaneously he reached the zenith of our coupling, his long, dark lashes brushing against the pale skin of his cheekbones as he squeezed his eyes shut, his face a grimacing mask that yet did nothing to detract from his handsome face.  

          We made love for hours, over and over, until white moonlight replaced the faltering late afternoon sun. I could have gone on for hours longer, but my senses cried for respite from the erotic torture I was subject to at my husbands‘ experienced hands. Content to just be in his arms, I lay on my side, my back pressed to his chest, lying on the crushed petals of the flowers that fell from my hair at the height of ecstasy. His arm was draped across my hip, mine wrapped around his forearm, fingers laced together. “Is thou stamina tested, beloved?“ he asked, voice low.

          I smiled and snuggled closer to him. “Not yet. You must try harder next time,“ I retorted.

          “I have days yet in which to exhaust you, my little Asgardian,” he teased, squeezing me tighter.

          We lay in silence for a time, listening to the sounds of the forest outside. It was so different than the palace in the heart of the City of Asgard with its almost unnatural silencewithin our chambers. Surrounded by the hooting of owls and the rustling of leaves, I could feel myself being lulled into sleep. But, where exactly was I then, if not in the palace? I knew there was more to Asgard than just the city, but nothing of it had ever been described to me.

          “Loki, where are we?” I asked quietly, my voice breaking the comfortable silence we had settled into.

          “This? It is my hunting lodge in the mountains of Gymirsgard. Thor and I used to come here on hunting expeditions. By horseback, it is several days’ journey southwest of the palace,” he explained, his voice soft.

          “Several days?”

          “By horseback,” he reiterated. “But I only travel by horse when accompanying my brother. Magic is almost instantaneous.”

          “But why? Why here?” I pressed. Why was I brought so far from the city? Did they fear I would be a danger? An embarrassment?

          “Once Mother was sure that you were in no peril and the potion and spell was working, she sent for me and together we brought you here to complete your metamorphosis in seclusion. She thought you would prefer it to the palace.”

          “Indeed, I do,” I agreed. Despite being royalty, there was a definite lack of privacy within the golden walls of the royal palace. Curious courtiers and nosy servants gossiped like fishwives at market, spreading news, upstairs and down, like the fires of Musepelheim. Once I returned, I would have to express my gratitude to the Allmother for her foresight and thoughtfulness.

          “Will you not be in trouble with Odin for being here? He was reluctant enough to allow you to leave the enclosure of the palace to escort me to Iduna’s. This is much, much further away,” I gasped, referring to his imprisonment.

          “I had wanted to bring you here of my own volition but while I do not fear Odin, I feared he would think I was using you as a bargaining chip to secure more freedom and find a way to keep us apart. Mother and Thor actually convinced the Allfather that we deserved a true honeymoon. Asgardian wedding celebrations typically last several days before the newly wedded couple departs on their honeymoon. The more important you are, the longer the revels. Our union, for instance, would necessitate a full week of feasting, balls, and other amusements.”

           _“Oy vey,”_ I mumbled.

          “Pardon?” he asked, confused.

          “Oh, sorry,” I apologized, somewhat mortified at my turn of phrase. Mentally I chastened myself for the usage of such a Midgardian term. “It is a Yiddish phrase. ‘My goodness’ or ‘woe is me’ would be a loose translation.”

          “It does seem daunting,” he agreed, kissing my cheek. “There is not a person aside from you who knows how much of a change it is going from human to Asgardian. We have been given a week here for you to acclimate yourself but then we dive into the lion’s den. Seven days to prepare for the six days of wedding celebrations that await us upon our return.”

          “What typically occurs during these celebrations?”

          “The usual feasting and balls. There are frequently hunts, sporting contests, entertainments, and receptions,” he explained.

          “It sounds like you just read a page from Henry VIII’s diary,” I jested. “The only thing you did not mention was attempting to sire a son on the queen.”

          “All in good time,” he promised, using the arm around my hips to turn me over so he could cover me with his long, lean body. “You shall have what was so cruelly denied to you in your mortality. While you may not yet be Queen of Asgard, here, you are so. Together we are consorts, monarchs of this bit of forest, and I shall enjoy ‘practicing’ making a son on you this eve.”

          “Practice makes perfect,” I teased as his lips trailed kisses down the valley between my breasts, his breath raising goosebumps on my flesh.

          “Truly,” he began, peering up at me from where he had been tracing my navel with his tongue. “Can perfection ever be achieved?”

          “All the more reason to practice,” I sighed, struggling to maintain my train of thought as I felt his breath in my most intimate places.

          He raised his head, looking at me from between my thighs. “Shall we begin?”

 

          In the morning, we broke our fast with a hearty meal of soft boiled eggs, hearty brown toast, and thick slices of cold ham. It wasn’t much but it was enough. Not having eaten since breakfast the morning after our wedding, I was famished. Had I still been human, I would have been severely weakened and starving. I could tell that with the lack of food, my new body was weaker than it could have been but I was still infinitely stronger than my mortal self ever was. Mythology told of how Thor once fought Jotüns for eight months straight without stopping for sleep or food; while I had not asked if the tale was apocryphal or not, it did indicate that Asgardians could go for extended amounts of time without sustenance. On Midgard, for the few days between arrival and capture, Loki had not, to my knowledge, eaten, and unless attending a banquet, his mealtimes here were erratic, sometimes going for days between meals. Being neither a born Asgardian nor a warrior, I did not know if I would ever attain such an ability to go for such extended periods without repast, but I hopefully attested my hunger to my body still recovering from the metamorphosis.

          After clearing away the meal and stacking the pewter flatware in the cupboard, I hurried to the bedroom and tossed the golden robe I had thrown on upon rising on the bed and pulled a moss green, empire-waist cotehardie over my head. Furnished with a mahogany wardrobe, the room was not equipped with a vanity. After the activities of the night, I shuddered at the mess my hair had to have been, but I had no mirror in which to evaluate my reflection and no brush to pull my tresses into submission. There was a door in the wall to the left of the bed, immediately next to the door to the hall. Behind it was a bathroom with a huge claw-foot tub and a mirror with a delicately carved wooden frame hanging above the sink.

          I was pulling bruised flower petals from my hair when Loki walked up behind me, his reflection joining mine in the polished surface of the mirror. “I wish you to join me on a walk along the river,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning casually against the door frame.

          I did not respond to his demand, only shifting my eyes to meet his in the reflection. I would not be spoken to in that manner. Perhaps as a mortal, in my game of allowing him to manipulate me so my own ends would be met, I would have breathlessly acquiesced. Now as his wife and a princess, I would make sure he came to appreciate my mettle and not just view it as amusing that a mortal dare be intransigent to the wishes of a god.

          After several moments of silent evaluation, Loki uncrossed his arms and walked up behind me. I half expected him to wrap his arms around my waist from behind and kiss my neck, seducing me again, but instead he began silently plucking petals from my hair, dropping them to the floor without care.

          “Are there any that I have missed?” I asked at length, pulling my fingers through my hair. I still had not addressed his command to go for a walk nor would I until he either rephrased it or altered the tone in which it was made.

          “I got them all,” he replied, backing away and resting against the doorway again.

          Still pointlessly attempting to comb my hair with my fingers, I asked if he or Frigga had seen to it that some of my personal belongings besides clothing were brought here for my use. “I am in need of a brush,” I pointed out.

          A vivid green aura formed around his right hand and the silver backed brush from my vanity in the palace appeared in his hand. “This must have been overlooked,” he said, somewhat dismissively.

          I held out my hand for it, waiting for him to put it in my palm but instead he once again stepped up behind me, this time running the stiff bristles through my red hair. “What is wrong that you are so suddenly sullen?” he posed.  _This_  Loki was the one I had become familiar with over the past six weeks I had been in Asgard. The affectionate, attentive Loki who gifted me a horse for our wedding, who vowed to burn Yggdrasil itself, who made love to me over and over last night was an aberration. I was suddenly very suspicious of that Loki.  

          “Unless it be a life or death situation, I shall not be ordered about,” I declared, raising my chin in defiance. “Even if it is for a walk along the river.”

          “I did not order you,” he countered. “I expressed my wish for you to do so.”

          “Those were your words, but your tone made it clear you were commanding me to join you. I am your wife, not a servant. If you wish me to accompany you, all you need is to ask.”

          His eyes narrowed as he halted in his grooming of my hair. “Is that all? Is that what is behind this abrupt shift in demeanour?” Then he chuckled. “My apologies, beloved. You are indeed my wife and I beseech you, I implore you, to join me on a stroll along the banks of the river.”

          “Don’t mock me,” I chided, unable to hide my smile.  _Damnit. I was falling for it again._

          “Is that a yes?”

          “Yes,” I sighed dramatically. “That is a ‘yes’.”

          The brush vanished and he wrapped his arms around my waist, resting his chin on my shoulder. It was such an informal gesture of intimacy I had not expected him capable of that it caught me off guard. “You please me, wife,” he stated. Moving his lips to my ear he whispered, “And you shall be pleased with the surprise I have for you.”

          “I am duly spoiled, darling,” I purred, turning my face to meet his lips.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Sigyn spend the first day of their Honeymoon with a walk on the river, where both parties reveal deep truths about themselves.

           My hand tucked in the crook of his arm, we walked along the bank of the clear, gurgling river. Sunlight diffused by the verdant canopy above us sparkled on the water, reflected on the rocks and logs that lay in the tributary. Birds called, small mammals scurried, and insects crawled across the terrain, the sounds of their activities creating the perfect background to our morning stroll.

          As a mortal, I had always had an affinity for the water. Simple pleasures such as swimming in a slow-coursing river or reclining in an inflated inner tube as friends and I drifted with the current were memories that still retained a freshness in my mind. It was with satisfaction that I learned that the royal palace in the heart of Asgard was near to the sea and that I could see the gentle swells from my balcony, but knowing that this little bit of heaven was available to me was overwhelming. While I doubted that we would be able to visit as often as I would like, the tiny lodge with its five rooms and intimate setting would be an escape, to flee reality and retreat into the fantasy that the setting it was in evoked.

          Unbidden, the words to an old Midgardian folk song came to my lips, the notes drifting softly across the landscape. “Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you/Away you rolling river/Oh, Shenandoah, I long to see you/Away, I’m bound away/’Cross the wide Missouri…”

          Loki halted his pace, gazing at me with a mixture of wonderment and gentleness. Hitherto, I had kept this talent for vocals close to my heart. Since my arrival on Asgard, I’d not had much reason to sing. Happiness had only come lately. Now that I stood here on the banks of this river in the wilderness of Asgard, only an old familiar song could properly encapsulate my emotion. Simple words would not do.

          As I finished the tune and gazed down the river, watching as a beaver worked feverishly at building his dam, I felt Loki’s hand protectively come to rest upon the fingers that were tucked in his elbow. “You never told me you could sing, Sigyn.”

          “Anyone can sing,” I replied, my attention caught by a great bird that was taking flight from a low-hanging branch on the other bank. “Some just do it with more skill than others.” As I watched the bird soar into the sky, I thought it the perfect metaphor for where I was now. I was flying high in my new life, in my new surroundings. Just as that bird had broken free of terrestrial bounds by flying, I had also escaped the grasp of Earth.

          “You are quite skilful, wife. That was beautiful. Was that a song from your home realm?”

          “Aye,” I confirmed, finally looking at him. “I know no Asgardian songs and it was the only song that came to mind. It’s a song about a river that I know. The Shenandoah River runs through the mountains of my home state.”

“Do you miss it?” he asked softly.

          “Occasionally, before we married,” I admitted. “But during the ceremony, I knew that not only could I never go back, I knew I’d never want to. What does Midgard offer me that Asgard can’t? Mortality? The most banal of existences? This is where I was meant to be. Here, on Asgard, amongst the gods. With you.”

          “Two outsiders, outcasts, finding their home in a land to which they were not born,” he mused, turning toward me and releasing my hand. “Brought to Asgard with relics kept locked deep in the strongest vaults in the Nine Realms. Relics as are we. Stolen, displayed, changed…” Casting his eyes downward, he looked away from me.

          My heart ached at his words. I knew what he meant. It was because of the Casket of Ancient Winters and the war with Jotunheim that he was here in Asgard, a captive prince. Captive his whole life, he felt. The truth withheld from him, a shameful secret. As for me, it was by the power of the Tesseract that I was brought to the Realm Eternal. Following the failed attempt at conquering Midgard, the Tesseract was locked securely in the weapons vault where it would ostensibly remain for eternity and I was a captive to my past, to my heritage as a mortal. In the eyes of Asgard, we were two of a kind. Not born of the Aesir but adopted, however grudgingly, into their ranks.

          I placed my hand on his cheek, gently cradling it. “They are fools, and you well know it. How many of them can claim to have the best of both worlds? We aren’t of Asgard. How can we deny that? But to their narrow minds, that is our detriment. We cannot fit in and we never will. But it is because of this that we can see everything without the clouded, biased vision of the Asgardians. All they will ever know is the view from the top while you and I have spent our entire lives looking up from the bottom.” I turned his face to look me in the eye. “This is what distinguishes you from Thor. He wants to protect the mortals from threat. He wants to fly in with his hammer and save the day, rewarded with the lauds of a fawning Midgard. You wish to rule, to save them from themselves as they work toward their own destruction. To be viewed with a mixture of fear and respect and given all due obeisance owed a king.”

          “How ironic that of all those I have encountered, you, birthed on Earth, the very realm I sought to overthrow, are the only person who has ever affirmed what I already know? To them I am naught but a bully, a vainglorious tyrant intent on ruling only to prove my right of birth to be a king.” Shaking his head, he turned away from me, taking a few steps away from where I stood, watching him.

          “They make your ambition sound paltry,” I purred. “You are above such pettiness. It is your  _destiny_  to rule.” 

          He spun around, his face animated. Despite being spurned and left to die by his biological father, a throne truly was his destiny and he would not be denied that inheritance. “And with my Midgardian consort at my side, how could they not doubt that I truly wish to rule justly? I will have shown, by my elevation of you to my wife, that while I sit above them, I recognize them?”

          “How not indeed.”

          “Sigyn,” he continued, striding back to me, a sense of purpose in his gait. “I do regard you in much higher esteem than the rest of Midgard. For no other reason would I have brought you back to Asgard with me to be my wife,” he explained, reaching down and taking my left hand in his right, the left reaching into the brown leather vest he wore over his green tunic. “I realize that in the haste of your abduction and the wedding here, I neglected to give you something important. Something I would have, should have, given you before I sealed you away within me and went to take on my brother and that freak show known as the ‘Avengers’.”

          I watched in stunned silence as onto my finger he slipped a huge square-cut electric blue gem set in the same rose gold as my wedding band. “Loki,” I breathed, lost for words. “It looks like you have set the Tesseract on my hand.”

          “I had hoped you would find the resemblance. To remind you of the power that brought us together.”

          “Thank you,” I sighed, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding him close as I kissed him. “It is perfect.”

          “I know,” he smirked, wrapping his arm around my waist and holding me close to him, distracting me as his fingers worked at the buttons running down the bodice of my dress. “Would I give you anything less?”

          “Give unto me yourself,” I suggested, pushing the leather vest off his shoulders and allowing it to fall onto the grass. I placed my palm flat on his chest, feeling his rhythmic heartbeat under the soft fabric of his tunic.

          “I am far from perfect,” he contradicted, pausing to look down into my eyes.

          “Perhaps not, but you are perfect for me,” I assured, rising onto my tip-toes to kiss his lips.

          “Such poetic words, love,” he said as he tilted his head to nibble at my ear lobe. “Do you seek to soften me up?”

          “Nay,” I replied. “I wish to harden you!” Sneaky smile spreading across my face, I reached down and undid the laces on the front of his trousers, letting him know exactly what I meant.

          “ _Sigyn the Seductress,_ ” he chuckled, opening the front of my gown, and running his hands from my shoulders to my wrists, pushed it down until I was bare to the waist, tugging the fabric down from my wrists. “Underneath your honeyed words is a wanton woman.”

          “Satiate me,” I commanded, shivering as he knelt in front of me, his warm hands covering my breasts as his teeth nipped at the flesh of my stomach. 

          “Satisfaction is not in my nature. I would have you over and over,” he declared, moving his hands to my hips and pushing me backwards, guiding me toward a tree that stood no more than a dozen feet behind us.

          Resting my back against the rough bark on the trunk, my eyes widened as Loki pushed my skirt up around my waist and probed his fingers into my warm flesh. Seeking to assist, I gathered the skirts in my hand, holding them up as my husband used his hands to pleasure me. “How like you this, dear heart?”

          “Mmmm,” I sighed, wrapping my free arm around the back of the slender tree trunk. “This feels so illicit, like some wanderer could walk upon us at any moment.”

          “I’d make them jealous that I have what they don’t,” he responded, placing a hand behind my left knee and hooking it over his shoulder so I was standing on one leg. “I wish to summon them with your screams and leave them with the sight of me making love to the most beautiful woman in all the Nine Realms.” Looking up and holding my gaze, he leaned in and when I felt the tip of his tongue run against my engorged nether region, my eyes closed and I arched my back, forcing his fingers deeper in me.

          “Oh, gods,” was the last coherent sound I made before surrendering to the exquisite pleasure each flick of his tongue, each thrust of his long fingers, each low moan that passed from his lips. I dug my heel into his back, using my new superhuman strength to keep him on his knees, worshipping the temple that was my body. My fingers clawed into the tree, bits of wood crumbling to rough sawdust beneath my fingertips. A flock of birds took off from the surrounding trees, frightened off by my escalating cries. “Please,” I pleaded, my voice strangled. I needed him inside me before I lost my sanity.

          His teeth pulled slightly at my engorged labia as he pulled his face away, looking up, his green eyes meeting mine again. “Please…” he intonated, prompting me to tell him exactly what I wanted.

          I gathered my skirt and wrapped the fabric around me, tucking it between my backside and the tree. “Loki,” I said, my voice low and thick, not mincing what it was that I wanted. Reaching down, I grabbed a fist full of his hair and tugged, bringing us face to face. “I need you inside me.”

          He smiled mischievously and hiked my leg around his waist, his free hand reaching into the front of his unlaced trousers. “Dear gods, Loki,” I shrieked as he ploughed into me. My fingers still laced in his hair, I yanked his face to mine, revelling in the taste of his warm, soft lips as his tongue darted between my teeth.

          “Wrap your legs around me, Sigyn,” he instructed, pressing harder into me and using his hips to lift my body slightly higher. Obeying, I pressed my bare back more firmly against the tree and lifted my right leg, crossing my ankles behind his waist. He reached underneath me and placed his hands on my buttocks, providing extra support, his nails digging into their abundance. “Look me in the eye as I make love to you,” he growled, placing his forehead against mine. “Let me see your ecstasy.”

          It took all the concentration I had to keep my eyes open as his hips moved back and forth, his manhood filling me and retreating from my passage, my muscles tight from the exertion of pressing my hips against the young oak at my back. As he pushed me closer and closer to climax, I could no longer focus on anything except the pleasure, and I closed my eyes, allowing my head to fall back, my mouth gaping as piercing, disembodied screams filled the air. Finding his own release, I felt his seed fill me as his breathing became harder, faster, his groans loud as his placed his lips next to my ear.      

          Limbs limp, he gently laid me down on the grass not bothering to arrange my gown to preserve my modesty. I suppose after wantonly making love to my husband by standing against a tree, my modesty was long gone and worrying about it being bunched around my waist was laughable. I lazily watched as he knelt by my side and placed his palms flat on the ground, pressing on the soil. A bed of think, fully-blossoming white flowers sprung up from the earth, around us, under us, providing a soft place for us to lie. I reached out and took his hand in mine when he lay down beside me, both of us looking up at the clouds.

          “My woodland goddess,” he teased, lacing his fingers through mine. “I wonder what appellation the Allfather will grant you upon our return to the palace. I am in favour of Goddess of Passion.”

          “After that display, Goddess of Inhibition is more apt,” I countered.

          “Uninhibited passion, then,” he agreed. “How do you wish to be known?”

          “I wish to retain my enigmatic nature. I want to be Goddess of the Unknown, Goddess of Mystery. But between you and I, I want to be your Goddess of Malice, the counterpart to the God of Mischief.”

          “Goddess of Malice,” he repeated slowly. “I like it. ‘May I present my consort, my wife, Sigyn, Goddess of Malice.’”

          “Say it again,” I requested, turning my head to look at the profile of his face silhouetted against the thick white blossoms.

          “Goddess of Malice.”

          “No, no. The part you called me your consort,” I clarified.

          “My consort, Sigyn, Goddess of Malice,” he rasped.

          “You know just how to stoke my ambition, mischievous one!”

          “I know how to stoke more than your ambition, my malicious goddess,” he taunted, rolling over and running his hand from my knee to my hip, leaving no room to misinterpret his meaning.  

          “It is fitting for a man traditionally also associated with conflagration to fan the flames of desire, is it not?” I observed, referring to an obscure Norse association. “A man of ice possessed of such fire?”

           “I am a man of many contradictions,” he said simply. “Which would you like today?”

           I sobered. “Loki, do you trust me?”

           He cocked an eyebrow, confused at my sudden shift in demeanour. “Of course I do. You alone have my trust.”

           While I took his affirmation as truth, I could not truly believe that I held all his trust, just as I had reservations that he, ever the consummate trickster, the lying god, was worthy of the last shred of trust I was withholding from him. Still a small part of me wondered if, and when, he would turn, showing that I was yet another pawn in his endless schemes. But he had trusted me enough to not only defy Odin and bring me to Asgard, but to make me his bride. Even that, in the deepest recesses of my mind, was taken with a grain of salt.

          “If you trust me so, I want you to take me in your Jötunn form.”

           He sighed and looked away, rising from the bed of flowers on which we rested. “You have no idea what you ask, Sigyn. I do not want you to see the monster that I truly am.” Almost as if ashamed, he would not look at me as he laced up the front of his trousers and picked up his discarded vest.

           I stood, allowing my skirt to fall into place. Putting my arms through the sleeves and pulling the bodice back into place, I realized the simple linen gown was ruined from being scraped against the tree during our tryst. I was not at that time concerned, however; it was just a garment, easily replaced. My one concern was the shadow of anguish that flickered across Loki’s face as he turned away from me. Coming up behind him, I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Monster? I knew nothing of Jötunheim or the Frost Giants until you brought me here. The tales that Asgardian parents tell their children to frighten them into behaving mean naught to me. I did not think you a monster as you fought to claim Midgard and I cannot imagine to think you a monster as a Jötunn. To me, it is another shade of the man I call husband.”

          “Another  _shade?_  Is that meant to be a joke?” he demanded as he slowly turned toward me.

          I had never seen a Frost Giant and had no idea what to expect but the sight of him in his Jötunn form took my breath away. His skin had turned Prussian blue with ridges of slightly darker blue running across his forehead, down his cheeks, and more on his neck and throat. His eyes were of vivid red and I could see the vapour of his breath as he exhaled. I placed my hand on his cheek, feeling his flesh cold as ice beneath my palm. “You are still the most handsome in all the Nine Realms. I was never raised with the same prejudices as the rest of Asgard,” I reminded him, bringing up our earlier conversation. “That duality we share, being of two realms, the both of us, I see you only as you are. Loki Laufeyson, the rightful King of Asgard. My husband.”

          He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “You see the part of myself I despise most, and yet you do not flinch.”

          “Shhh,” I comforted, pressing a finger to his lips. “I know my words cannot convince you to feel otherwise, but just as I love your Aesir form, I love you as Jötunn just as much and no less. You may never assume this form again, but I have seen and I can say with absolute conviction that I am not afraid. Your frigid, blue skin cannot alter my feelings for you.”

          His red eyes snapped back open. “Sigyn, you said you love me.”

          Quickly I recalled what words I had used and realized I had indeed said I loved him. Not yet had I strung those three words together and expressed them to Loki, yet inadvertently I had told him what was truly on my heart. My heart accelerated, anxious I had made a grave error. Would he mock my moment of sentimentality? It was not a trait either one of us viewed favourably. It was too easily exploited. “So I did.”

          “Is your sentiment true?” he pressed, placing his hand lightly over my heart.

          I exhaled. “You revealed your greatest vulnerability to me. Why would I respond by lying about mine?”

          “I would not say that being born of Jotunheim is my greatest vulnerability any longer,” he confessed, his red eyes, for all their intensity, seeming to soften at his confession.

          I stared at him, stunned. “Loki, I…I…” I stammered, not daring to believe what conclusions my mind jumped to. I had in advertently revealed that I loved him; a weakness, he would say. Or would have said had he not voluntarily revealed his own susceptibilities. It was so far out of character for him that I could barely process it all.

          The blue began retreating from his skin, his natural pallor replacing it. “Tell me again.”

          “I love you?” Unsure of what exactly he wanted me to repeat, my response was more of a question than a declaration of my love.

          “Say it like you mean it, Sigyn,” he encouraged grabbing my hands.

          “I love you,” I whispered, then again with more feeling. “I love you.  _I love you!”_  I threw my arms around him and pressed my lips to his, glad to be free of the burden of holding my feelings to myself.

          Pulling his face away from mine, he placed his palms on either side of my face, cradling it in his hands, using his thumb to wipe away a tear that had fallen down my cheek. “Never doubt that you are my one true, immortal love. My greatest weakness. I am a liar, a schemer, a manipulator and we met by way of our deceits and ambitions; you well know I am not a good man by any standard but I give you my honest word that I will strive to be good as I can be to you always. I will fail, we both know I will inevitably miscarry in this oath, but never doubt my intention and my love.”

          There was no helping the tears that now fell from my eyes and for once, I did not care that I was crying. I did not feel weak. I did not feel judged. It was as if the grain of salt with which I had accepted his trust was washed away and when out lips met in a kiss christened by the saltiness of my tears, I felt something more than lust, more than infatuation, more than ambition stir inside me. The last fissures in my heart healed as if my rejection by my Midgardian prince had never happened. I felt love.

          And I felt that love returned.

 

 

          The next morning as we lay in bed after another night of furious lovemaking, Loki handed me a leather gauntlet. “You will want this when you dress this morning,” he said cryptically.

         “Why?” I asked, examining it. The leather was perfectly tanned to a golden finish and embossed on the front had a representation of the helmet with the two erect horns that Loki wore. 

         “You will see in due time,” he answered, rising from the bed and bending to pick his dressing gown off the floor. After tying the black velvet sash around his waist, he tossed my ultramarine chiffon kimono across the bed and walked out of the room. I shook my head at the thud of the heavy wooden closing. Apparently Loki did not know I was already a decent archer. Certainly bows on Asgard were not that different from those I used on Midgard?  

          I was humming to myself when I swept into the dining room for breakfast. Loki smiled at me as he set a pewter platter on the table, pleased with himself. “Did you fix this?” I asked, taking a seat.

          “I had a little help. Without sorcery, I’m not much a hand at cooking.” I nodded, understanding the subtext. As a prince, his meals were always prepared by others. But it meant the moon and the stars that he attempted to prepare breakfast on his own, albeit with the aid of magic. “Ta da!” he announced, removing the domed lid from the platter, revealing eggs Benedict.

          “But this is…” I began.

          “You doubted that I would recall,” he accused lightly. “You reminded me your first day here in Asgard.”

          “I had my misgivings,” I admitted. “Thank you, darling.”

          He placed one of the crumpets on my plate, then took a seat and placed the second in front of him. We exchanged few words while eating other than the compliments I paid him on the meal. As we had the morning before, we cleaned up the dishes and set out on a walk along the river, this time my new gauntlet strapped to my left arm.

          Set up in the same clearing we had been in yesterday was an archery butt. My intuition had been correct: he indeed meant to teach me archery. What a surprise it was to him that I was already quite talented with a bow and arrow, despite the handicap my ample bust provided.

          “How did you come by these?” I questioned, raising my eyebrow. “One of the conditions of your probation is no weapons…”

          “Me, not you. And you must be trained in combat.”

          “I knew you would find some way to skirt the rules, Loki,” I laughed. “Rest assured, I have been well instructed in self-defence for many years. Firearms, archery, hand-to-hand, even some fencing. I am nowhere near as skilled as an Asgardian, but for a mortal, I was far above the average.”

          “What then shall be done with this time and gauntlet if you need no further training in archery?” he asked, running his thumb over the back of my leather-encased wrist. The helmet emblem was right at the spot he was touching, almost as if a suggestion.

          “I can think of a few things,” I offered. “All of which involve no raiment at all.”

          Wrapping his fingers fully around my wrist, he pulled me close to his chest. “Enlighten me.”


	7. Chapter 7

            “State your business,” the sword-bearing guard demanded gruffly.

            “I have an audience with Queen Frigga,” I replied, making eye contact. I would not let the guards intimidate me and it was best they learn that now.

            He turned and pushed the large, gold double doors open, announcing my arrival. “The Lady Sigyn, my Queen.”

            Frigga was seated on a low stool, back to a stone balcony similar to that in my chamber, a large loom in front of her. “Thank you, Askr,” she said, rising to her feet. His armour clanked as he marched back to his post. I sensed disapproval in his stance, but I dismissed it. Soon enough he would serve Loki and I whether he liked it or not.

            “Please, have a seat,” she welcomed, waving her arm to indicate a second stool that sat near the loom. She elegantly sat back down and resumed work on what I assumed would be a tapestry. “I started this the day after Loki and I took you to Gymirsgard. It is of your wedding ceremony. Once it is complete I wish to present it to you as a reminder of that happiest of days.”

            I blushed and looked down at my hands, overwhelmed by her gesture. “You are too kind, Mother. Truly. To have a visual representation of the day is wonderful enough, but one woven with such love and kindness…” I trailed off, unable to adequately express my gratitude. “It shall be cherished for as long as I tread these halls.”

            She reached out and squeezed my hand before pulling a long strand of amber yarn from a large basket on the left of the tapestry frame. Fascinated, I watched her fingers deftly weave the cord in and out of the other strands. “Do you weave, my dear?”

            I shook my head. “I am adept enough at embroidery but weaving is by and large a lost art on Midgard. Only the most skilled of craftspeople still weave by hand. Such things are manufactured by machinery anymore. Pity that such handiwork is so scarce.”

            “The wonders of mechanics,” Frigga mused, setting down the shuttle and closing the lid on the basket of thread. “I am sure you are wondering why I invited you here this morning?”

            “Yes,” I admitted. Though I’d never admit it, I had been anxious over what I would do with my time while the men were off on the hunt. I’d not spent any time without Loki at my side or nearby and with the short time I had been in Asgard, I had not been well familiarised with the day-to-day activities of court life. What did you do with your time when you lived for upwards of ten millennia?

            “Loki asked if I would begin training you in the magical arts,” she explained. “To test your aptitude for spell-casting and charms.”

            “Magic?”

            “Yes, my dear. Simple things only today. A summoning charm, perhaps a fire spell. We will see where your aptitude lies.”

            I bowed my head. “I hope I do not disappoint you, my queen.”

            She laid a hand on my shoulder. “Mother, please,” she reminded me warmly.

            “Yes, Mother,” I responded.

            “Now,” she began, rising from her seat. I stood and followed her around the roaring fire pit in the centre of the room and stopped about five feet from a table where a stack of books rested. Frigga waved her hand in the direction of the volumes, urging me to “Concentrate hard on that first book and will it to come to you.”

            The task was remarkably easy. I had a natural talent for magic and by the time Frigga dismissed me, I was able to summon objects of various sizes across the room as well as light and extinguish a fire with a snap of my fingers (just as Loki had done in bed the night before). She encouraged me to practice and told me to come again day after next and she would work with me some more. In the meantime, she sent me off with a stack of books on rudimentary spell and charm casting and a word of encouragement not to shy away from the great library. “There is a wealth of knowledge for those who seek it,” she waxed. “And with so little to occupy his time, turn to Loki if you need assistance. His mastery of magic is unparalleled.”

            I dropped the books off in my study, sighing as I glanced around the room. It was so impersonal. Much of the palace was just bare stone with accents of ancient Norse carvings, but I found it hard to imagine spending the next several thousand years surrounded by such banality. Next meeting with Frigga I would ask how to go about putting my own touches in the spaces that now belonged to Loki and I, but I wished to go to the library to seek reading material for my own entertainment.

            The massive library had no shortage of tomes written in modern Midgardian languages and I chose a selection of material in not only the runic-based language of Asgard, but also in French, Russian, and my native English. I carried the books back to our quarters and while lounging on the sofa, I summoned one of the servants to fetch me some mulled wine and build a fire to fight the chill that crept in the open arches.

            Not long after the retainer tucked a thin blanket around me and departed, Loki walked into the room looking agitated from the long day of hunting with, among others, Thor and Odin. His clothing and face were splattered with flecks of dried mud from the forest and the scent of cedar clung to his skin. He looked tired and drawn, his cheeks more hollow than usual.

            Tossing the blanket aside, I laid the book on the floor and stood. “How was the hunt?”

            He gave a harrumph and removed his helmet. “Where is my servant?” he questioned, glancing around the room.

            “Here,” I offered, moving toward him with my hands extended. “Let me. You go have a seat on the sofa. I have some spiced wine on the table you are welcome to.” I took the helm and gently laid it on the velvet bedspread, smiling to myself.

            Without saying a word, he walked to the table and picked up the steaming chalice. Staring into the crackling fire, he absently took a gulp. Despite his preoccupation, he seemed content. It must have been the chance to get outside for a few hours. I observed him for a few moments, staring at his strong profile silhouetted against the fire as I folded the blanket and tossed it over the back of the couch. Looking at him I was filled with such desire; he might have spent the day riding with the hunt but I would end the afternoon riding something of a different sort.

            I placed my hand on his shoulder and I was surprised when he allowed me to direct him to a seat on the upholstered couch. He lowered his slim frame onto the cushions, both of us uncaring that he was getting the blue velvet upholstery dirty; we had servants to clean the expensive fabric. Taking a seat on the thick rug on the floor, I began deftly unlacing his hunting boots of brushed brown leather while he lazily recounted the hunt. How Thor showed off, the way Týr faced down a bilgesnipe…

           “But what of you, Loki? How did you fare in the chase?” I inquired, my hands massaging the tense muscles of his right calf. “I do not care a whit for the antics of others. It is you I wish to hear about.”

           “You know I am not allowed a weapon,” he reminded me snidely. “I’d not have been permitted to join the hunt had it not been part of our wedding celebrations. No, I had the unenviable task of keeping company with Odin. Or as the rest of them saw it, he undertook the duty of watching me. The ancient fool used the Odinforce to render my magic useless and I was denied even my daggers as protection. If Týr’s bilgesnipe had gone rogue, they would have sat back and let it kill me.”

           Had it been anyone else, I’d have questioned if a one-eyed man was fit to keep watch over Loki, but Odin saw more than most people, mortal and immortal alike, ever did. “It would not be a weapon you could use for felling an animal, but I would hesitate to say you are unarmed,” I disagreed lightly, my fingers walking up the inside of his thigh. “It is properly concealed now, but I would wish to sheath it elsewhere.”

           “Sigyn, what in the name of Svartalfheim are you playing at?” he demanded as I pulled at the lacing of his tight leather trousers. I rose up on my knees, kneeling between his knees, brazenly staring into his eyes. Questioning aside, the glint in his eyes gave him away; he was well aware I was seducing him.

            “You know exactly what I mean,” I told him, rubbing my hand over the bulge between his legs, the leather smooth and taut under my palm. “Relax and let me minister to your needs, husband.” I reached into the opening of his pants and grasped his phallus, gently pulling it out.

             His brows shot up in surprise when I licked it from the base to tip, which I slowly circled with my tongue. Peering at him from beneath my lashes, I saw his lips part as he sharply inhaled, surprised at my unabashed action. I felt the blood stiffen his cock as I wrapped my lips around him, sucking at the delicate skin, eliciting a small amount of fluid. With a small popping sound I pulled him out of my mouth, swiping my finger across the head, and making eye contact with him, wiped a bit of the salty liquid across my lips before leaning forward again and working him more aggressively, my hands, tongue, and mouth working in conjunction to coax low moans forward from his throat. 

            I smiled when I felt his fingers slide through my hair and grab at the roots, not pulling enough to cause me pain but to control my movements. He was peering down at me from under his long lashes, his eyes full of fire. His breath came as a hissing from between his clenched teeth, bared as rolled my tongue along the soft skin on the underside of his shaft.

           He moaned when I pulled away, leaving a gentle kiss on the tip. Crossing my legs Indian-style, I sat back and covered his knees with my palms. The leather was tight and smooth, warm from the fire in the hearth and his skin beneath. “Show me how you pleasure yourself,” I instructed, cocking my eyebrow at him. “I want to see your hands work.”

          Hesitating only for a moment before wrapping his fingers around his cock, I watched as he slid his hand along the hardened organ, his eyes never breaking contact with mine. Restraining myself from climbing on top of him and burying him deep within the dewy folds of my passage, I narrowed my eyes and set my jaw against the sensations in my loins.

          “Come now, Sigyn,” he gasped, his hand moving faster. “You don’t want to waste such a precious harvest as my seed, do you?”

          I smiled crookedly, baring my teeth. “I’m sure a virile god as yourself has a bountiful yield, Loki,” I contradicted as I leaned in toward him, my lips and tongue taking over for his hand. Lubricated by saliva and trembling with imminent release, I kissed the slick tip before I stood and slowly, deliberately stripped in front of him, first letting the embroidered girdle fall to the floor, followed by the ribbon in my hair. His eyes were pools of poisonous fire as I unlaced the back of my gown, pulling the silk cord from the fastenings one eyelet at a time. Naked, I stood silhouetted against the fire that burned at my back, basking in the ravenous gaze of Loki as his body ached for delayed release.

          Straddling him, I pressed my finger to his lips when he attempted to make a sound. “Nay, do not speak.” I drew my finger down his lips and chin, running them along the taught muscles of his neck and the knob in his throat that bobbed when my fingertips ran lightly across it. I unlaced the tie on the fur mantle around his shoulders and swung it around my own, nuzzling my cheek against the soft bristles. “Luxurious,” I commented, positioning myself above his erection. “Tell me, husband. Is it as luxurious as my flesh?” 

          He groaned as I slid down on him, but I caught the sound with my lips, pushing my tongue between his teeth. His lips tasted of salt and earth, sweat and the musk of his skin. I sighed as his black nails dug into my buttocks, grabbing them as I slowly rose up, biting Loki’s lower lip as I felt him quiver, the tremors of his release rolling through his muscles. “Oh gods,” I hissed, tossing my head back and exposing my neck to his teeth, shivering as he lightly bit at my skin.

          I knew he would climax before me. I had planned it so that he would, knowing Loki could not leave a job unfinished. With his thick, warm seed dripping down the inside of my thighs, I wrapped my legs tight around his waist and clung to him as he cradled my backside in his hands and stood, walking to the bed, onto which he tossed me roughly. I smiled, biting my lip as he threw off his garments and crawled onto the mattress, winding his arms underneath my knees. I shivered as he licked the thick semen from my skin, the cool air swirling in the room from the open arches hitting the trail of wetness left behind.

         “Taste me on your lips,” he directed, moving up my body and crushing my lips beneath his. I could feel, taste the sticky, salty fluid he licked off my leg on my lips, on my tongue as he rolled his on mine, demanding my surrender. Spurred on by the way his fingernails clawed into my hip as I sucked every last bit from his tongue, I reached down and grabbed one of his taut buttocks. His knee-jerk reaction at my grasp was an involuntary thrust, his hips sharply pressing more firmly onto my pelvis.  

         “Do you not wish to reciprocate the torture you endured, husband?” I teased as his mouth moved to my throat, biting, sucking, licking the sensitive skin.

         “Oh, yes,” he snarled. “You need to be punished for that wanton display.” He cupped one of my breasts in his hand, squeezing gently as he began nursing at the other, the brown-pink nipple pulled into the vortex of his hungry mouth.

         Dragging his tongue from the peak of my left breast, down to the underside, and across my ribcage, he repeated the process on the right but this time instead of kneading the other side of my chest, he laid his hand on my side and spread his fingers, pulling it down my hip. It slid across my thigh to where my flesh was cleft, placing two of his long fingers in the tight passage which had been filled with his endowment less than five minutes before.

          I cried out as the pads of his fingertips felt along the walls and found that most secret, hard to find spot that sent me into spasms of pleasure. All the thoughts in my head became disjointed, irrelevant compared to the slow, torturous movements of his fingers. I could barely concentrate on the sensation of his lips as he pressed them to my quivering belly, lower and lower until his tongue joined his fingers, snake-like, flicking, teasing. My fingers curled, clawing at the velvet bedspread, my nails pulling at the embroidery on the fabric but, in the moment, destroying the handiwork of some artisan was not even in the deepest part of my mind. I was fully consumed with the torment I was suffering. I was overwhelmed by Loki alone.

          “Donne-moi ta bite, malicieux un. J’ai besoin de toi en moi.” I gurgled, my throat stretched tight from the arching of my back. If he did not take me now, I would not be able to fight my own climax. “Baise-moi maintenant! MAINTENANT! Mon Dieu!”

          “Sur vos mains et les genoux, déesse,” he instructed, withdrawing his fingers and sitting up, kneeling with his taught buttocks resting on his heels. If I had not felt such unfulfilled need, I could have lay where I was and willed myself to orgasm under his intense green gaze. Instead I obeyed, rolling onto my stomach and raising myself up on all fours, leaving his fur stole lying neglected on the coverlet. Spying his golden helmet still on its side on the foot of the mattress, I picked it up and placed it on my head, tilting it back so that it did not fall over my eyes.

          Moving close behind, I felt the tip of his hard cock pressing against me as he used his knee to spread my legs wider. With one of his large, strong hands on my shoulder and the other grasping my hip, he eased into me, sending shivers through my body. “You’re so tight,” he commented as he pressed himself into me, all the way down to the hilt.

           The noises I made were animalistic, coming from deep within and bursting from my core with such force that the muscles in my abdomen constricted. Pulling his hips back, he slid out again, before pushing back in, somehow deeper than before, setting a smooth, rhythmic pace as my silken skin enveloped his iron-hard member, . I cried out when the hand on my shoulder grasped one of the horns on the helmet and tugged, pulling my head back, my neck stretched almost to discomfort but not quite. Tears spilled from my eyes as he pulled me off of my hands until my back was pressed against his chest, the hand on my hip snaking around and down to rub the bundle of nerves that was wet with the dripping quim of our lovemaking. The steady pace of his thrusting became more erratic, the depths of his penetration becoming more uneven until I felt the shudder of his chest behind me as the yelps of our release echoed around the room.

         His breath was scalding hot against my already flushed skin as he wrapped his arms around my torso, holding me close as I slumped into him. “I don’t want to go to the feast tonight,” I declared. “I want to stay right here, naked, with you.”

        “Oh no, you are going to the banquet. And enough with these gowns of blue and green. You are wearing scarlet like the wanton woman you are.”

        “Are you referring to my raiment or the blush on my cheeks as I remember what just transpired?” I asked, turning my face to his and tugging on his hair, feverishly kissing his lips.

       “Both.”

       “Well, in that case,” I said, picturing a low cut gown of red silk and ostrich feathers I had commissioned. It was shamelessly based off a costume in my favourite film but no one in Asgard would ever know. “I know just what to wear.”

 

           The next few days passed quickly, filled with balls, an afternoon garden reception, and even a recital by Bragi of the epic history of the Nine Realms. By the dawn of the final day of the festivities, I was ready to move on with normal daily life in the court of Asgard. But before that could commence, there was one, final, and important ceremony left to get through.

           I could sense something was different when Loki motioned for me to join him in the chamber that contained his own wardrobe. Somewhat suspicious, I entered the room and quickly caught my breath. On a mannequin next to his ceremonial armour was a gown of heavy aubergine silk and a breastplate of rose gold with an engraved pattern of vines along the neckline, smooth across the breasts, and from under the bust down to the waist, dozens of minutely detailed, overlapping leaves. 

          “For me?” I gasped, afraid to touch the gleaming metal lest my fingerprints mar the surface.

          “Commissioned especially for you. “This hue is the colour you chose to represent you, is it not?” he asked, fingering the edge of the deep red-purple fabric.

          “Purple for royalty and red for the blood of my- our- enemies,” I elucidated, walking around the form to take in my new ensemble from all angles.

          Loki’s lips twitched at my description of the colour. “You are a treacherous woman,” he observed.

          “Who else would have you?” I teased, stopping in front of him, smiling.

          In an unnaturally good mood, he pulled me to him and kissed me. “None in all the Realms but you.”

          “And don’t you forget it!” I teased. “Thank you. Thank you ever so much. This is extravagant. I know how rare this metal is on Asgard and for it to be used in armour? It is almost too much.”

          “It is fitting seeing as you are one of a kind, Sigyn. Only the rarest materials to set you apart from the rest. Notice the motif on the armour. For my woodland goddess, each leave has an individual, distinct vein pattern. The leaves are after the tree against which I had my way with you in the mountains.”

          I could not hide that I was touched by the symbolism and quite amused at the reference. “Will you do me the honour of dressing me?” I asked looking into his eyes. “I do not wish to besmirch my armour with the touch of mere dressing attendants. Only a god will do.”

          “The hands of a god are the only ones  _fit_ to touch you. Ever,” he declared as he untied the sash on my chiffon kimono and pulled it away from my body. He tossed it over a green leather chair in the corner, leaving me standing unabashedly naked in the centre of the room. I held my hair up and out of the way as, with expert hands, he laced me into the luxurious gown, strapped on the breast plate that was somehow perfectly moulded to the shape of my curves, and affixed the metal vambraces engraved with a pattern of snakes and dogwood flowers. “And as my personal gift to you,” he said, fastening a leather belt around my hips, an empty holster hanging from it. “A token.” He handed me one of his own daggers, a sharp silver blade with a handle of solid wrought gold and bulbous at the end of the grip.

            I stared at the object, speechless over the significance. “But I thought you were not allowed weapons? That your knives, daggers, and swords were removed from your quarters.” Inwardly I winced. He gives me a gift, an item of great personal importance, and my words serve only to remind him of the captivity which he was in.

            “Technically, I am not in possession of a weapon. You are,” he pointed out with a smirk.

            I slid the blade into the sheath, taking a deep breath. “How do I look?” I asked, seeking Loki’s approval.

            “Like a goddess.” His assurance left no room for interpretation. “One last thing,” he said, reaching onto a shelf and pulling out an object covered in a black cloth. “You will need this,” he informed me, pulling the cloth off with a flourish.

            Fingers shaking, I reached out and took the beautiful helmet from his hands. It was of the same pink-hued gold as the rest of my armour, the brow a delicate curve over the forehead with delicately curved wings of overlapping gleaming, golden feathers that extended outward from the sides, the bottom point at my chin and gracefully curving upward to a point several inches above the crown.

            “Midgardian myth speaks of a phoenix, a bird that rises from the ashes of its own destruction. Fitting for a woman who becomes a goddess only after burning the bridges of her former life, aye?” prompted Loki, his eyes narrow as he watched me evaluate the priceless object in my hands.

            “Fitting indeed,” was my absent reply. The thought that had gone into this elaborate gift was staggering. For someone who I felt was continuing to hold me at arms’ length, he certainly paid much attention to detail.

            Loud banging echoed next door as one of the guards entered our bedroom. Head snapping around in the direction of the noise, Loki swept aside his cape and placed a palm on my shoulder as he quickly swept out of the space. “Wait here.”

            “It’s time, milord,” came the voice of the guard, muted by the door which Loki had left cracked when he exited. “The Allfather awaits your presence.”

            Standing in Loki’s wardrobe chamber, the shaking that had begun in my fingertips when my husband handed me my helmet spread throughout my body. I had not felt such anxiety even on my wedding day. Limbs trembling, I raised my arms and lowered the helm onto my head, arranging my curled hair around my shoulders.

            Loki’s voice interrupted the tangled mess of anxious thoughts swirling inside my head. “Are you ready?”

            Unable to speak, I nodded. Loki tucked his own helmet underneath his arm and waved me out of the room, his face set in a mask of disinterested boredom. Side by side, we walked out of our rooms and down the hall that led out of the wing in which our suite was located. I wished to lace my fingers through his, to feel the steadiness of his hands, but I was still shaking. This was to be the day on which I truly became a goddess and as such, I did not want him to take my nervousness for weakness. Already he looked as if he was not looking forward to the coming ceremony.

            The murmurs of the gathered court grew louder as we drew closer to the cavernous throne room. All of the gods and goddesses of Asgard were in attendance that morning, waiting to see the formal presentation of Sigyn, wife of Loki, as a goddess and princess of the realm. Sure I had been the centre of attention at the wedding and the reception that followed and the succession of balls and other functions in the week following our return from the honeymoon but I was not officially a deity of the pantheon. I had no affiliation. Until then, I was an esteemed guest. A commoner. Today, I stepped into my role as deity and was granted designation by Odin.

            “Nervous?” Loki whispered as we halted at the end of the pillared colonnade that fed into the hall.

            I turned to look at him, not daring to breathe. He chuckled and grabbed my hand, bringing the knuckles to his lips. “Your eyes tell all. They are as wide as the cosmos with fear.”

            “Am I that obvious?” I gasped, exhaling. “I mean… I’m fine.”

            “Sigyn.” He lowered his chin, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “You forget to whom you lie. Try again.”

            I laughed in spite of myself. “Perhaps I am less nervous now.” I straightened my posture and set my jaw, adopting an aura of disinterest, arrogance. “Fear is anathema to me.”

            Laughing with me, he squeezed my hand. “Anything less than calling you goddess of Malice is an affront to you, o fearless one!”

            We were still chuckling when we heard the loud boom of Gungnir upon the floor, announcing the ceremony was to begin. The hall immediately fell silent, the congregation waiting for our appearance. Adopting straight faces, Loki raised our entwined hands and extended them outward, leading our way into the hall.

            Hundreds of people stood on the steps that were built in between the huge columns that lined the aisle to the gilded throne upon which Odin sat. Frigga stood in her place to the right of the throne, on the bottom step, and Thor on the left, both grinning benevolently. I wanted to return their smiles, but I held my stoicism lest the Allfather think I was not greeting the moment with all due gravitas. Head held high and eyes forward, Loki and I processed past the watchful eyes of the Asgardian pantheon, confident that we were in complete command of their attention. The closer we got to the throne, the more confident I felt. All my uneasiness that I wrestled with before marching down that aisle melted away, leaving me with one simple truth: I belonged here.

            We halted once we reached the three steps that led to where Odin waited, his faithful ravens perched on each shoulder. Loki let go of my hand and brought it to his lips once more before backing away and taking his place beside Thor. I removed my helmet and knelt on my knees, gently setting the headdress on the flagstone floor in front of me. 

            Above me, Odin stood and gazed down on me, the look in his eyes hard and unreadable. “Sigyn Karldottír. Wife of Loki, son of Odin. In recognition of your marriage, I hereby elevate you to Princess of this kingdom and bestow upon you with all blessing and favour the title of Goddess of Fidelity for the faith which you have placed in those least deserving. May you uphold the ideals of dependability and loyalty for all those in Yggdrasil to behold. Do you solemnly swear to uphold your duties as member of the blood royal and goddess of this realm?”

            Voice strong and unwavering I affirmed myself. “Yes, Allfather. I do so swear.”

            Odin stood and made his way down the steps to where I knelt, my head bowed in obeisance. I felt him fasten a cape on my shoulders, the heavy folds covering my back and pooling on the floor behind me. “Go in peace and health with our wishes of a long life and happy marriage.”

            Grasping my helmet, I rose and curtsied to the king, then turned to look back down the aisle I had just traversed, pausing for the Allfather to present me to the assembly. “Hear me now, Asgard; I present to you the Lady Sigyn, Princess of Asgard, Goddess of Fidelity.” My mind was in turmoil. Fidelity for the faith ‘placed in those least deserving’. I knew well this was a barb at Loki who Odin had referred to time and again as ‘faithless’. But what if there was a more sinister meaning to his benediction? Was it a threat that if I did not remain faithful to Loki, no matter what his untrustworthy son did, that my place in Asgard would be short lived? That just as he once rendered Thor mortal and exiled him to Midgard, he would not hesitate to do the same to me? Suddenly I felt trapped. If I did not live up to my designation, I would be scorned. I would not be deemed acceptable for I would be a failure. What influence was I if I could not remain true to my name?

            I would not fail. Odin was setting me up for it by naming me Goddess of Fidelity. He was waiting for me to slip and show that my allegiance still rested with the mortals on Midgard. Or that one day, I would no longer be able to abide by Loki and his nefarious schemes. No, I would not give him the satisfaction. I would be a paragon of devotion. To Loki, to Asgard, to Odin if it suited. If that was the game that the Allfather wanted to play, I would play to win.

            I was Sigyn, Goddess of Fidelity. I was faithful unto myself and my ambitions alone.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ceremony to celebrate the reopening of the Bifrost opens the annual festival of Litha, causing tensions between Loki and Sigyn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Please be aware there is what can be construed (and is meant) as a rape threat in this chapter. This chapter also has depictions of drunkenness but nothing too explicit. 
> 
> *The Russian word shvibzik is used. Just in case you try to run it through Google Translate, the word means "imp" and was a term of endearment used by Tsar Nicholas II for his youngest daughter Anastasia. Sigyn uses it as an insult toward Loki.

The round of cotillions to celebrate our marriage over, Loki and I settled into married life in the Palace of Asgard. Three days a week I learned magic from either Loki or Frigga and on three more my maidservant would strap on a suit of battle armour and I would report to the training ground for combat training. Although Sif supervised most of my training, it was not uncommon for Thor or Fandral to step in and share their expertise. Even one of Odin’s Red Hawks, Theoric, took an interest in my apparent aptitude for the sword and would take time out of his own training routine to spar.

Trained in hand to hand combat during my time with S.H.I.E.L.D, I was further along in that area than anything else. Adrenaline pumping in my veins after a particularly good training session, I returned to our rooms and challenged a bored looking Loki to charge me. Underestimating my capability, he was less than enthusiastic when I laid him out, but I soothed his wounded ego with a few well-placed kisses and allowing him to have his way with my limber body.

Enlisting Frigga’s assistance, I set about redecorating the wing which we had been granted as living quarters. There was little that could be altered, but I did what I could. The garish gold bed was replaced with a huge four poster of carved mahogany and curtains of deep green tapestry that could be drawn about to keep out drafts in the winter months and replaced with gauzy chiffon curtains of palest sage in the lazy, warm days of summer. Rich wooden panelling was installed in my sitting chamber, warming the space and enhancing its liveability. Loki and I had tussled over my decision, but I held firm. Staring at the same parchment coloured stone on every wall in the palace was boring me to distraction already. I needed one place to which I could retreat and feel a sense of cosiness. I appealed to his vanity and commissioned a portrait of him to be hung above the marble mantle, visible to all who I would entertain. Placated, he gave my décor decisions his grudging seal of approval.

Time passed swiftly and soon my concept of how long I had been in Asgard became blurred. I was integrated in the Court; on days I was not learning magic or training, I would entertain or pay calls. Iduna and Freyja were frequent guests and I in their domiciles. Occasionally I summoned my ladies in waiting and worked at embroidering and tapestry. Sometimes we took supper alone in our rooms, frequently inviting Hel to join us or a small supper party with Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three. Loki found them to be louche, but I quite enjoyed the informal atmosphere. Far more enjoyable than the state banquets where we were all under the watchful glare of one-eyed Odin.

Hel and I began a tradition of storytelling as I tucked her in for bed. One night, she asked me to tell her my favourite Midgardian stories. Startled, I could not think of any and I felt small admitting it. In lieu of a story, I taught her ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’ before blowing out the candle on her nightstand. The next night, I told her the story of the Little Cinder Girl. Every night was a new princess, a new fairy tale, and when I exhausted my limited number of stories of mortal origin, I pulled from the library. Together, we made our way through the Thousand and One Tales, Hans Christian Andersen, and even Aesop’s Fables, which she particularly enjoyed.

At the centre of all this was Loki. Somehow, and I was not always quite sure how, he managed to keep occupied while I was out playing warrior-in-training or pretty, pretty princess. He was typically sullen but I would entice smiles out of him any way I could. It pained me to be gone from him as much as I was, knowing that while I was attending to my new duties and responsibilities, he was still under arrest and confined to the palace and the surrounding grounds. More than once, the librarian stumbled across us in some empty row, bruises blossoming on my neck from where Loki had been assaulting my tender skin with his teeth, my back pressed against the long, tall stacks of books. Loki bought his silence with a thinly veiled threat regarding the loss of his tongue if he talked. We stole away to the stable once and literally rolled in the hay, emerging from our tryst doubled over in laughter at the sight of straw sticking out of our hair. During that first winter in Asgard, we would spend quiet evenings on the sofa in front of the fire with goblets of warm spiced wine. Sometimes we read; silently on our own but just as often Loki would recite Asgardian poetry to me as I lay with my head in his lap.

We still had tense moments when he would become overbearing and acerbic leading to arguments or one of us walking out on the other in a huff, but I began to grow less neurotic about his affection. We were both strong-willed individuals, used to getting our way, and despite our frequent head-butting, I began to see him relax in regards to our marriage. The affection which he showed became less formal, less about making a show of warmth and replacing it with genuine tenderness even if only within our private quarters. Publicly he still maintained somewhat aloof, not allowing anyone to discern that the cold, calculating Loki might actually have a heart. 

The completion of the repairs on the Bifröst and the opening of the new observatory coincided with the festival of Litha, the Midsummer. Loki rankled as, astride Sleipnir, Odin led a procession to the gleaming observatory where he was greeted by a solemn Heimdall. Just behind Odin rode Thor and Frigga, and immediately behind them, mounted on the horses we had ridden the morning after our wedding, was Loki and I. “Be glad you have been granted leave to go beyond the palace,” I whispered to him as the Queen tossed sheaves of wheat off the edge of the bridge to bless the safety of all those who might travel on it.

“Aside from the fact that Odin uses my kidnapped son as his personal warhorse,” he hissed. “Standing here on the Bifröst for the first time since…,” he trailed off, refusing to speak of the night the bridge was destroyed in his fight with Thor. Lips thin and eyes narrowed, his stance rigid, it was obvious to all that he did not want to be standing on the rainbow bridge. We were surrounded by the very same people he felt betrayed by, the people he held responsible for what happened that night. Had it been acceptable, had I known he would appreciate the gesture, I would have pressed my palm to his, my fingers squeezing his hand to convey that no matter what he felt Odin and Thor had done, I would never betray him. I was the goddess of Fidelity; constancy was in my very name.

It had been determined that the first journey on the new Bifröst would be undertaken by Odin and Freyja. They would venture to Vanaheim to visit Freyr, the god of the Harvest and twin brother of Freyja. In the absence of her husband, Freyja had been even more desolate since the portal had been destroyed and she could not lean on her sibling for support. I watched as, with tears in her eyes, she knelt and bid goodbye to her flaxen-haired daughters, Hnoss and Gersemi, embracing them tightly and speaking to them, patting their heads as the nodded their assent to whatever words the goddess had spoken. Odin would return straightaway but Freyja would remain among the rest of the Vanir for an unknown amount of time. The night before, I had even heard whispers in the banqueting hall that she would likely take advantage of the Bifröst to conduct another search of Yggdrasil for missing Óðr. The two children wiped tears from their eyes as their mother stood and Frigga moved behind them, placing a comforting hand on their shoulder.

I had never seen the Bifröst work before and watched in fascination as Heimdall lowered his sword into the pedestal in the centre of the room and with a great rushing sound, a bright light full of colour erupted from the large round opening, extending in the infinite expanse of space. In a blur, as if pulled forward by an unseen wire yanking them forward, Odin and Freyja were gone, pulled into the vastness of the void. I gasped as one moment they were there and the next they were gone. Vanished.

Excepting only Loki, the company waited for Odin’s return with bated breath. Even I waited anxiously, my breathing shallow. Until that moment, I did not realize that I was not ready for the task which I had come here to accomplish. I was not ready to be Queen of Asgard should Odin be lost to the Void. Loki and I had only celebrated our first anniversary the past week. My feelings toward the Allfather were ambivalent at best but I needed longer to prepare, to learn, to continue acclimating myself to the world in which I now lived. Loki might have been born of a king, with kingship in his blood, but I was born to be a nobody. I was birthed at the bottom of the universal food chain. How unnatural it was for me to be standing where I was hit me full force in that moment.

Applause and cheers echoed across the water when Odin returned from Vanaheim minutes later. Stern as ever, he did not acknowledge the fanfare but merely nodded to Heimdall and mounted Sleipnir. “Let the Midsummer festivities commence!” he yelled, urging Sleipnir into a gallop toward the city. Taking this as our cue, the rest of the royal family mounted our horses and followed, leaving the rest of the attendees to make their way back on foot.

Before joining the celebrations in the streets of Asgard, I wished to remove the metal greaves on my forearms and the asymmetrical breastplate and change into something more free flowing and breezy, more suited to the heat of summertime. Today would be one of the few times I ventured beyond the palace and while I wanted to blend in somewhat with the milieu, I knew I still needed to be recognized as a daughter of Odin. I carefully chose a gown of muted lime green chiffon with an asymmetrical neckline that was embroidered with golden sequins. The same sequins were sewn onto the waist of the dress and over the sleeve on the right shoulder, extending in a two-inch wide stripe to the hem of the gown. The left side had a drape that came over the arm in the fashion of a wing in the Grecian style. Admiring my reflection in my dressing room, I looped a pair of delicate gold earrings through my ears and slid a set of bangles in the shape of coiled snakes on my wrist.

“Where are you going?” demanded Loki as I swept into the central vestibule of our chambers, his tone accusatory. “Do you not understand your place is beside me, not gadding about in the streets of Asgard with the common citizens?”

I stopped in my tracks and slowly turned to face him, glaring. “My place?  _My place, Loki?_  Is that all I am to you?” I grilled, my voice rising. “A placeholder? An ornament?”

“You are my wife, damnit. I will have you with me!” he bellowed.

“Are you so selfish to deny me my life?” I asked quietly, pointedly. 

“ _Life?_ I don’t want to hear how I deny you a life. Daily you move about the palace and the city playing dutiful goddess, shield maiden-in-training, and leave me to suffer my indignity as prisoner within these walls alone. When do you play dutiful wife to your lord and master? Your husband?”

“First of all, you are  _not_  my ‘lord and master’. I am yoked to you without inequity. You say that you view me as equal but that is one lie you cannot deceive me with. Secondly, I do not neglect you. When I am not familiarising myself with my role as princess, I am invariably with you. I spend my evenings and nights with you. Would you have me remain ignorant of this realm and its customs? To retain my air of foreignness as a repulsive stench? The taint of mortality will be attached to me always, but I will become as Asgardian as possible. If I am to be queen of this realm, I will have worked my way into the hearts of the people by being one of their number. I will be seen sharing in their celebrations. I will foster relationships with them. And as my first Midsummer in Asgard, yes, I do wish to join in the revelries on the streets below. It is your actions that have you confined here within. Yours alone and I will not allow those to dictate my life and enjoyment.”

“Wench,” he spat, grabbing me by my wrist. “You dare accuse me…”

“Unhand me at once!” I commanded, wrenching my wrist from his grasp. “ **Do not**  touch me again in that manner.” Though my fingers itched to, I did not reach into the slit on my dress for the dagger I had strapped to my thigh. Loki would have me unarmed and incapacitated before I could even unsheathe the weapon.

“Or you’ll what?” he mocked, sneering at me. “You’re not strong enough to fight me off. I can overpower you physically or magically before you can scream for help. Almighty goddess of Fidelity. You’ll be forced to remain with me to save your pretty face. Don’t forget I own you, darling.”

“You own nothing,” I asserted, my lip curling in abhorrence. “Let me pass,  _shvibzik_.”

He bowed exaggeratingly from the waist, his arm extended toward the door. I spun sharply and left the room in measured paces, my heart beating in my throat. Once I was far enough from the hallway that led to our suite, I stood against the wall, my back against the stone that had been polished smooth over the tens of thousands of years it had stood. My knees gave way and, shaking, I slid down to the floor, breathing heavily. There was little that inspired fear in me before I came to Asgard but now I lived in fear. Apprehension that with one wrong move, one false word, I would be cast out, my godhood revoked, and cast back into the mortal realm. Fear that I might not live up to the expectation which Loki had brought me here for; I knew what he did to those he no longer had use for. And now his thinly veiled threat, delivered in anger, that spoke to my very core and spoke to one of my worst fears that I held in my mortality. I did not truly think he would actually act on it but the fact he had even alluded to it made my blood run cold.

Pulling myself together, I swallowed my fear and stood, shaking out the layers of chiffon on my skirt. “Sister?” Thor called, strolling toward me. “Are you ill?”

I smiled at my brother in law, genuinely grateful for his concern. “I am well,” I assured him. “Are you on your way to the square for the festival?”

“Verily. And you as well?”

“Indeed. I am quite looking forward to my first midsummer celebration here in Asgard,” I enthused breathlessly, my heart rate still slowing back to its normal pace. “I relish the idea of letting my hair down and seeking merriment with those outside the palace.”

“It is much fun. You shall enjoy the festival, sister. Would you allow me to escort you to the square?” he offered, gallantly offering me his arm. I linked mine with his, returning his warm smile. Arm in arm with the blonde warrior, I was able to relax. With Thor, I felt safe. I might be physically beyond his reach in the streets, but I knew Loki could project his magic across the Nine Realms; if he wished to toy with me, there would be no way to hide from his mastery of seiðr even if it had been limited in his parole.

There were so many people in the streets that we went unnoticed for several minutes. Music was playing and people were dancing to the bright, upbeat tune, their faces flushed and exuberant. Garlands of flowers lined the edges of roofs and many bunches were strewn about, their petals of purple, pink, yellow, and red being trampled by the dancers, their fragrance being released into the warm air. Tables laden with pewter tankards full of foamy mead were abundant and people hoisted their syllabub into the air and toast, clanking them together with those of friends with a dull metallic thud. Children darted in between the adults, chasing each other with carefree laughter. Seeing such merriment, being a part of it, was liberating. It was so much more informal than the feasting in the glittering palace at my back.

Enchanted with this glimpse of life in the common citizens of Asgard, I felt the panic and anger from my fight with Loki begin to dissipate. A young girl with hair the colour of corn silk hesitantly approached me and with a curtsy presented me with a circlet of small white blossoms. “For me?” I asked her, kneeling down to get at eye level.

Nervous, she nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. To celebrate your first Midsummer in Asgard.”          

I was struck by her address. Isolated as I had been within the palace, it had never fully come to my mind that Loki’s marriage would be public knowledge. Sure, he was a prince and as such news of his nuptials would certainly come to the attention of the greater populace. I had chosen my raiment to reflect a sense of royalty but it had not occurred to me that anyone, even this young girl kneeling in obeisance, would recognise me as a princess, Lady Sigyn, wife of Loki Laufeyson. “It is beautiful, my child. Would you do the honour of crowning me?”

She nodded enthusiastically and before I had a chance to bow my head, Thor had placed his hands beneath her arms and was lifting her into the air. Beaming, I stood and felt her place the wreath on my head, balancing it on the braids that wound around my scalp like a halo. I blushed when I heard the cheers of onlookers around us and saw that they were applauding not just Thor, their crown prince and noble defender, but me as well. I slowly nodded my head once in acknowledgement of their seeming approval, feeling every inch the royal I was.

“Do you enjoy yourself?” inquired Thor good-naturedly as he handed me a tankard of mead. We were no longer the centre of attention, the celebrations carrying on as before. We were being treated just as two other citizens partaking in the occasion. While I dressed to assert my station, I did not want to be on display. I might have been distracted earlier, but enough prolonged attention might cause me to crack, remembering Loki’s words. 

“I had not expected such a warm reception,” I confessed.

A crease appeared on Thor’s forehead, his brow furrowed. “I do not understand.”

“As the wife of Loki, I honestly thought that I would not be well received. Your brother is not exactly the popular, light-hearted prince he once was.”

“That is true, but they do not look upon you and see him. They see you as his spouse, yes, but you are separate entities. They know not much about you but it is their desire to like you. They appreciate that you have left the palace to join in their revelries and not remain sequestered away. I think also,” he continued, lowering his voice. “They are curious about the woman courageous enough, foolish enough to marry Loki.”

“Sometimes I wonder that myself, brother. I imagine that once upon a time, as the master of mischief, Loki quite enjoyed such events.”

Thor laughed, draining his mead. “It was his element. Once, he changed all the mead to water just to see the reaction. We laughed and laughed at all the people who, ignorant of his trick, still seemed to become and act drunk. Another year, he animated the figures on the fountains to talk whenever someone approached to refill their wine.” Thor’s expression sobered. I could tell he was melancholy, missing the man his brother used to be before the rot of evil began to creep into him. “Do you care do dance?” he asked, suddenly brightening.       

“With pleasure,” I consented, setting my tankard down on the cobblestones.

All day, until the light of the sun turned amber and gave way to the violet hues of night, I danced in the streets, leaping and skipping about. Holding hands with a large circle of villagers, we danced around a large display of flowers, boughs, and stalks of corn. I drank more mead than I have ever imbibed previously, not caring that with every one I drained I felt more and more lightheaded and uninhibited. Together with Thor, the Warriors Three, and Sif, I made my way all across Asgard City from the palace gates to the edge of the sea, mingling with the subjects of the realm.

Bonfires were lit every few hundred feet once night set in, bits of cinder and ash floating up to the sky on the slight breeze that blew through the streets. Midsummer Night was traditionally a time for lovers and seeing them together, retreating into dark alleys for trysts or slow dancing around the fires left me feeling lonely. Loki might have insulted me, threatened me that morning but he was my husband and somehow I loved him deeply. I encouraged Thor to escort Sif around but he instead excused himself and vanished, no doubt to the Bifröst and Heimdall for information on his own mortal love. Fandral offered me a dance, but I politely declined. No doubt influenced by the amount of alcohol I had consumed, I missed Loki too much to accept a dance invitation from anyone else.

Separating myself from the group, I grabbed yet another mead and took a gulp, wiping my hand across my mouth. Volstagg sat with his wife, surrounded by his gaggle of children. Fandral had swiftly recovered from my rejection and moved on to a petite brunette who was hanging onto his every word. Hogun was grim as ever, watching the fire as if ready to intervene should it begin to burn out of control. With a look of resignation, Sif allowed the einherjar Theoric to claim a dance but it was clear her heart was elsewhere. With Thor, I reflected. The shield maiden and I both nursed heartsickness. I wanted to reach out to her, woman to woman, but it was not in my nature to do so and it was not in hers to accept such sympathies.

Torn and confused, I placed the empty pewter stein on the table and slipped away, winding my way back to the palace. Much as I loved and missed him, I did not want to return to Loki that night. During the day, I had been able to occupy myself and push his threat from my mind. Alone, drunk, and tired, it was all I could think about. I had begun to recognise a pattern with Loki. Whenever things between us were going well, whenever it seemed things were settled and calm, he would sabotage it. He had been hurt too many times by letting people get too close to him and while I knew he did love me in his own way, he had even admitted as much, he was afraid of things remaining smooth. Lack of chaos, lack of tension made him as uneasy as his threats made me.

I hummed as I slowly walked toward the palace, the cobblestones cold under my bare feet. My shoes were dangling from my fingers, almost forgotten and the wreath of blossoms askew on my head. For the first time in many years I was drunk. Not only drunk, but far more drunk than I had ever been, mortal or immortal. I had checked my self-control when I silently drifted away from my companions, finally letting the copious amount of alcohol I ingested at the festival take over. The feeling was blissful; the wooziness, the disembodiment.

Loki was waiting for me when I walked into the grand central hall of the palace, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed across his chest. With all the revelry taking place in the streets, the palace was unusually quiet except for the sound the Midgardian tune I was humming. Even the einherjar situated throughout seemed to be more at ease that normal.

“It seems you enjoyed yourself, wife,” he scorned.

Happy to see him again, I reached out and clutched his arm as I began vocalising the song I had been humming, singing the opening lyrics off tune. “Every night in my dreams/ I see you/ I feeeeeeeeeeeel you…”

Roughly he attempted to jerk his arm free of my grasp, but I clung tighter. “Sigyn! Remember yourself,” he castigated menacingly. I ignored him, unable to curtail the song spilling from my very soul. The words, the feeling the song conveyed seemed appropriate somehow. Aware that the guards were likely watching as much as spying on us, I attempted to pull myself together and sing on pitch but dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Transitioning to the second chorus, I looked up at my husbands’ face but he was resolutely looking straight ahead as he marched toward our rooms. I could tell by the set of his jaw that he was gnashing his teeth in anger. My current behaviour was unbecoming but I was past the point of caring. Deep down, I was afraid if I sobered up that we would just continue our earlier fight and I wanted to postpone that as long as possible. Perhaps if he saw me acting as if had no cares in the world, he would assume I had moved past it.

Pulling him to a stop as I reached the final verse, I turned to stand in front of him, my fingers curling around his upper arms, my nails digging into the thin linen of his tunic and the thin strips of black leather that ringed his biceps. “You’re here/ there’s nothing I fear! And I know that my heart will go on/ We’ll stay forever this way,” I belted loudly, shaking him. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back, my voice rising to the ceiling twenty five feet above our heads. “You are safe in my heart and my heart will go on and oooooooooooon!” 

The last notes hung in the air, echoing through the hall. Behind us, deep laughter and soft applause drew closer. “Thor,” Loki hissed. Fighting a self-satisfied smile, I stood turned back around and nestled myself under Loki’s arm, sliding my left hand around his trim waist. “I suppose I have you to thank for my wife’s inebriation.”

Unfazed, Thor continued to smile. “You never told me you married a songbird, brother. I enjoyed your performance, Sigyn. Do you sing often?” By the glazed look in his eyes and lazy smile, it was obvious Thor had also had a bit too much to drink and was attempting to goad Loki.

“If she does, it won’t be this eve,” Loki countered, tightening the arm laid across my shoulders. I merely winked at the blonde, erupting into giggles again. “Let us go, Sigyn. You have already caused enough disgrace for us both.” Guiding me with his arm, I stumbled forward, walking toward our chambers on leaden, unsteady feet.

I heard Thor’s laughter echo through the hall as we retreated. “If Iiiiiii-iiiiiiiiiiiiii-iiiiiiiii shou-uh-ld stay/I would only be in your waaaaaay,” I sang, squeezing Loki’s middle. “So I’ll go but I know I’ll think of you every step of the waaaay.”

I felt his chest expand and contract as he sighed deeply, exasperated at my caterwauling but he did not attempt to silence me. “And I will always love yoooooooooou I will always love youuuuuuuuuuuuu you yoooou my darling you…”

I was belting the biggest part of the song when he pushed me into the bedroom and onto the bed, a look of utter contempt on his face. “Never again will you traipse around in full view of Asgard drunk,” he ordered. “You have humiliated me and it is only a matter of time before news gets back to Odin of your base behaviour. I hope you are proud of yourself.”

“Oh Loki,” I trilled, lolling about in the pillows. “I had fun today. Don’t spoil it. There was dancing, and flowers, and children, and mead…”

“Between you and Thor I doubt there is any of the liquid left in all Asgard.”

“Come here,” I requested, patting the spot beside me. He debated for a moment but acquiesced and sat on the bed beside me. “I brought you something.” I rolled over and crawled behind him, raising up on my knees. Using one of the newer tricks I had learned, I made a wreath of flowers identical to the one perched precariously on my flyaway hair appear and gently placed it on top of Loki’s long, raven tresses. “There. I am the Queen of Midsummer and you are my King!” I chortled as I pressed my chest to his back and wound my arms around his neck, burying my face in the gently curling ends of his hair.

We sat like this several moments before I pulled his hair away from his neck and pressed my lips over the pale blue vein that ran just below his snowy skin. “Lokiiiiiii,” I purred, winding a lock of hair around my finger.

“You are drunk,” he said bluntly.

“Yes, I am very drunk,” I confirmed, the arm still draped over his shoulder sneaking down his chest. He placed his palm over my hand to halt its journey downward. Undeterred, I kissed his neck again before moving to tug gently on his ear lobe with my teeth.

“Stop.” Before I could react, he had stood up throwing my already precarious equilibrium off balance enough that I fell back onto the pillows.

Assuming what I assumed to be a seductive pose, I smiled at him, extending my hand toward him. “This flush on my skin is more than the wine, darling.”

“It damn sure is not shame.”

“You speak of shame like you have any.” I crooked my finger and wiggled it slowly, enticing him to lay back down in the bed with me. His eyes darted toward the doorway but giving in, he stretched his long body over mine, meeting my kisses hungrily.

Exhausted after satisfying the need that had raged between us and sticky with sweat in the still, humid night, I nestled close to his cool skin feeling safe and protected. Contented, I finally stopped fighting the stupor that threatened to take me down and let my consciousness slip swiftly away.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unwell after the events of Litha, Loki and Sigyn argue over her health until the true nature of her illness is revealed

          I suffered from a monstrous hangover the next morning, my comeuppance for the excesses of the Litha celebrations. Having coupled with me the night before, Loki was gone when I woke and I did not see him at all until dinner that evening, when he strutted into the banqueting hall and sat beside me at the high table. I made no move to cover the blue and purple blotches on my wrist and forearm from where he had grabbed me the day before but it didn’t matter. He was not interested in me. 

         That night he didn’t come back to our chambers. I saw him only at meal times and even then he seemed to act as if I was not even there. There was a ball on the third evening but he managed to disappear before dancing commenced, leaving me to attempt to make flimsy excuses for him. The gulf that was widening between us was drawing attention but unless I was asked questions, I would not comment. How could I comment when I hardly understood the reason? He had derided me for arriving drunk at the palace, for shaming him. None but Thor and the einherjar in the halls had witnessed this 'disgrace' of which he spoke but it no doubt was the source of his enmity. 

          He returned to our bedchamber on the fourth night. “I’m sorry” was never a phrase Loki would utter nor would he attempt to make amends. I just had to accept that he was back and that he would expect things to resume as if nothing had happened. When he came to our bed that night, I was apprehensive but I made no move to refuse him.

          The hangover I nursed after Midsummer lingered on for days. Except for the morning a contingent of dignitaries from some far-off system was welcomed to Asgard, I did not leave our chambers until early afternoon each day and I retired early each night. I assumed it was not getting enough rest coupled with my anxiety over Loki. 

          Soon after, a sticky, humid air descended on the city, blanketing it in a haze that shimmered like a mirage. Taking advantage of a slight breeze one afternoon, I lazily fanned myself as I reclined in a chaise on the balcony off of my sitting room. I felt refreshed with a glass of water enhanced with rosemary and plum while reading a book on ancient runic spells I pulled from the library. It was miserably hot and my only desire was to escape the city and return to the cottage in the mountains. A swim in the cool, clear water of the river would be welcome respite from the sweltering temperature.

          “The Queen, milady,” my housemaid Farda announced, pulling me away from my daydream.

Waving the servant away, I swung my feet to the floor, but Frigga kindly bid me stay where I was. “No, my child. I have come to check in on you. You do not seem to be well of late,” she observed, pulling a second chair closer. “Have you been to see Eir or a healer?”

          “No. It is simply the heat that drains my stamina. I do not wish to burden the Healers. They are busy enough.” Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three departed for Vanaheim and Nidavellir within a week of the ceremony at the Bifröst. It was their mission to track down and capture the Marauders that had begun taking over the Nine Realms in the absence of the Asgardians. While mostly a peacekeeping envoy, they encountered plenty of skirmishes that sent wounded einherjar to the healing rooms. The Healers were plenty busy without me distracting them. “It is nothing that shall not pass in time. I appreciate that you have come to make sure I am well. It means much to know you are looking out for me.”

          “Anything, dear Sigyn,” she replied but I could tell that she did not find my response to be entirely truthful. I wanted,  _needed,_ a confidant, but I did not have that luxury. Not married to Loki. Frigga was the closest I had but because of her proximity to Odin and the intensely private nature of Loki, I could reveal little to her. I wanted her advice, her sympathetic ear regarding our recent fight but I held the knowledge close to my heart.

          “How is your magic coming?” she inquired, changing the subject. “I apologise that I’ve not had the time for our lessons these past days.”

          “I understand. Your responsibilities have kept you occupied. Nevertheless, I have been working and I have managed to project my astral form from one room to the next. My illusion casting has also improved.” To illustrate, I cast an image of Hel playing with one of her dolls into the shadows of the interior room. What I did not tell her was that in addition to those skills, Loki had also been working with me on a means of communication, exclusive to us alone. He had many magical skills but mind reading was not one. However, because of our relationship it was possible to establish a pathway between our minds through which to share thoughts, images, and memories. It was draining, but I also suspected that had a lot to do with his absence; every time I attempted to reach out to him, it was like slamming headlong into a concrete wall. He had closed his end of the connection and refused to reopen it.

          Frigga grinned proudly. “Wonderful, dear. Wonderful. You shall make a fine sorceress.”

          “My thanks, Mother," I said, graciously accepting her compliment. "How fares Thor? Have you any word from he, Sif, or any of the Warriors Three?”

          She shook her head, blonde ringlets bouncing with the movement. “Not since they arrived on Alfheim. I worry as any mother does…”

          “But let us hope that no news is good news,” I interjected, covering her hand with mine. “There are no finer warriors in the Nine Worlds.”

          “That is what worries me,” she confided, smiling wanly. “Rest, daughter. When they return victorious, I shall require your help in planning the celebrations to welcome our returning heroes.”

          We stood and I dipped my head in respect as she prepared to leave. “Yes, Your Majesty. It shall be my honour.”

          Alone once again, I looked over the city without really seeing it. I was too busy banging my fists on the wall that separated my mind from Loki’s mentally screaming for him to just come home and talk to me. Exhausted and sick from the cerebral exertion, I sent Farda to fetch me more water and took to my bed, staring at the walls until I fell asleep.

 

          Illness was uncommon among the Aesir but after a fortnight, I was still not feeling back to normal. What did they fortify that mead with? I wondered if my Midgardian heritage weakened my resistance to Asgardian alcohol or made me more susceptible to sicknesses of this realm. Even the paranoid thought that perhaps one of my drinks at the festival had been spiked strayed across my mind. Even Loki, who had only just begun to pay attention to me after the embarrassment I caused him after my return from the celebration, commented on my sunken eyes and ashen complexion. “You flinched away from me when I attempted to make love to you last night,” he accused. “Do I repulse you so?”

          “No, darling,” I soothed, laying my palm on his cheek. “I have for some reason not quite recovered from the excesses of the Midsummer festival. I still desire you, if you will have me.”

          “Do not say I did not attempt to prevent you from attending,” he snapped. “There is no reason for you to still be ill from drink. You would do well to consider visiting Eir and her Healers.”

          I shook my head, eyes downcast. “Your mother already attempted to convince me to visit the Healing room but I declined. They are burdened with the victims of the Marauder’s Uprising.”       

          “Thor’s fool’s errand. What does it matter the lives of an einherjar in comparison to a goddess?”

          “Loki!” I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth.

          “Oh, do not tell me that you place value on their lives, Sigyn,” he mocked. “They do what is expected of them; to lay down their lives for the protection of ours. Yours. Mine. And Asgard,” he added as an afterthought. “If they are in the healing room and you enter seeking the attention of the Healers, it is their duty to defer to you.”

          “Yes, but until such time as we set our machinations to overthrow Asgard in motion, I wish to maintain my reputation for kindness. Trouncing into the healing room and demanding that my petty stomach complaint is worth more than the life of a defender of the realm would reflect ill on me.”

          Loki rolled his eyes. “Sometimes I think you are more manipulative than I.”

          “I have to be,” I replied dismissively. “I’m wedded to you.”

          “Explain yourself, wench!” he demanded, advancing on me.

          “Where would you be if not for me, Loki? Where would you be?” I yelled. I was tired of every exchange between us the past few days being another argument but I could feel the ire rising in my blood. I could not stop the words from rushing forth in a torrent, attempting to shame him into acting like the loving husband I knew he wasn’t. “Until days before our wedding, you were in a cell deep underground, left to be forgotten, your name just a bad memory in the minds of all who knew you. Were it not for me, you would still be there...”

          “You imply that I owe you,” he countered, snarling. He stood inches from me, leaning forward, his green eyes boring into mine. “YOU OWE ME!” he bellowed in my face, taking me completely aback. “If not for me, you would still be an inconsequential mortal toiling away on Midgard, in the employ of those  _freaks_ , and mourning your dear prince who left you in such emotional tatters that you were willing to cling to a monster like me for salvation.”

          I refused to be intimidated. Standing my ground, I stared evenly back at him, my stance defiant. Seven inches taller, he was hunched slightly so as to look directly in my face, but I did not back away. I squared my shoulders and drew myself up to my full height. “I did not cling to you, as you put it. I offered you my services and my loyalty. I offered to use my knowledge of S.H.I.E.L.D and humanity to assist you in your conquest. I know them as you do not. Midgard meant and yet still means nothing to me. They are heinous creatures.” Then I softened, reaching up to caress his face. “You’re not a monster. Not to me. You are my world now. I do owe you for the life I have now and you have my gratitude.”

          He snorted and turned away from me, walking toward the annex to our bedroom. “Silken words from the wife of the lie-smith. Clever, Sigyn. I’ll give you that.”

          “Why do you deny my affection? I do not have to be proud to me married to one with such a reputation as you, and yet I am. You expressed your feelings to me in that mountain meadow many months ago. What changed in you?”

          He spun on his heel and walked back to where I stood. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me close to him, crushing my lips with his mouth. “Does this feel like denial?” he posed, grasping my hand and pressing it to the burgeoning bulge in the front of his trousers. “I am never so attracted to you as when you are flushed with anger.”

          The fervour of his kisses left me feeling faint, and as infuriated as I was with him, I was left with no choice but to cling to him to remain on my feet. Sensing that I was literally weak in the knees, Loki swept me off my feet and picked me up, carrying me through the rooms toward our bedchamber.

          I was growing more and more light-headed; the strength I was using to hold my arms around his neck was fading quickly. I did not know what was happening and that terrified me. Could immortals feel so faint? I searched through memories of my mortal life and even then could not recall a time I had felt so feeble. Using the last reserve of strength left in my body, I whispered Loki’s name before my whole body went limp in his arms.

 

          My eyes fluttered open, my vision blurry. At first all I could distinguish was the flickering of flames in the large chandelier that hung in the middle of the room then things began to grow sharper. I was face up in bed, a cool hand on my forehead. “Relax, milady,” a soft voice comforted.

          “What happened?” I asked hoarsely, looking toward the voice. Eir, the goddess of Healing, was standing at my bedside, a gentle smile on her face.  

          “You had a faint spell. I am checking your vitals but you seem to be the picture of health.”

          My mind was still swirling with confusion. “But why did I faint? Where is Loki?”

          “I have asked him to wait outside, but once I am through, I will send him back in,” she promised. “It will not be long.”

          Above me suddenly appeared the a model of my body represented in tiny rust coloured light particles, moving up and down slightly as I breathed. Every tiny movement I made was reflected in this ‘soul forge’ as Eir referred to it as I reached up to touch the hovering mirage. “What will this do?”

          “This will reveal any changes to your anatomy and isolate why you have been ailing of late. Ah,” she breathed, as if making a discovery. “See this?” she asked, directing my gaze to where my abdomen was represented.

          “Is that…?” I marvelled, my voice barely above a whisper. Where my womb should have been void, just discernable was a small, kidney shaped nodule with a bulbous, rounded end. My fingers covered my mouth as I gasped, a small tear falling across my cheek bone.

          “Yes, Your Highness. You are with child,” confirmed Eir. “You are in the early stages yet but I would predict your accouchement to be near the vernal equinox.”

          Wonderstruck, I reached toward the image of our child. Suddenly the world seemed so much bigger and my ambition smaller. Inside my body was my drive, my determination. I would offer this child everything including one day, the Norns willing, the thrones of Midgard and Asgard. This child would know love, acceptance, and equality from the moment it took its first breath. They would be birthed Asgardian to a father born of Jotunheim and a mother who began life as a mortal, a trinity within their very blood. While his or her parents were warmongers, this life flourishing within my womb would be a bringer of peace.

          “Is there anything I must be aware of, Lady Eir?” I inquired not daring to tear my gaze away from the soul forge.

          “You are in good health, young, and sturdy. I must advise you to curtail your training with the Lady Sif until after you have been delivered but aside from that, you are more that capable of going about your daily duties as before. Seek me if you become concerned or anything changes, milady. Even for the Aesir, the carrying and birth of a child is no light matter and much be approached with delicacy.”

          I cried out in displeasure when the image hovering over me vanished. “Shall I send your husband in as I leave, ma’am?”

          “Yes,” I encouraged, slowly lowering my hand. “I must regale him with the joyous news. My thanks, madam.”

          Eir curtsied and quickly exited the room, the echo of her footsteps background noise to the thoughts in my head. A baby. Together Loki and I had created the life that was now nestled in my body. My hand fluttered to my abdomen and I laughed with mirth. Yes, there it was. A slight rise that before attaining my newfound knowledge I would not have noticed, but there it was. Proof of my fertility.

          Loki’s rich, smooth voice broke into my reverie as he hastened into the room. “What did Eir determine?”

          I stood and once I was confident that I was steady, I took his hand in mine and pulled him toward the door. “Come with me.” While it was possible conception had occurred in the very bed I had just risen from, given our fondness for sneaking off to fornicate in various areas of our rooms or in hidden alcoves throughout the palace, it was no guarantee, but I did not wish to deliver the news there. It did not seem large enough for the grand news I was about to reveal.

          Stars were already shining bright when I led him out onto the highest balcony in the palace. Below us, the city was illuminated and the spectrum of colours in the Bifröst pulsed, mimicking the swaths of foreign galaxies that swept across the night sky. Miles away, mountains loomed like shadows on the horizon and in the opposite direction, the lights of the city reflected off the gently rolling Sea of Marmora. From here, one could truly appreciate how vast Asgard really was.

          Facing Loki, I took both his hands in mine. We had never discussed children and while I was slightly anxious about giving him the news, I had never felt as close to him as I did in that moment. Especially not since before Midsummer some two weeks hence. “Darling,” I said, my voice muted with emotion. “I have such wonderful news.”

          “Sigyn?” he questioned, his voice low, expectant.

          “I am with child my love.”

          For a few moments that felt eternal, he stood motionless as if processing my words. But then he moved closer to me, resting his large hand flat on the tiny protrusion on my belly. “Is it true?” His eyes were focused down at his hand, their emerald depths full of wonder.

          I nodded. “Yes, it is true. I even saw our child in the soul forge today. The miracle of life, taken root in my body from the seed you planted.”

          “A dynasty, sprung from my loins,” he reflected, eyes shifting back to mine. “This is welcome, blissful news, beloved!” Palm still on my abdomen, he pulled me to him, his kiss ardent, before getting down on his knees and wrapping his arms around my waist, holding me tightly. I laid my hand on top of his head as he pressed his lips to the warm spot where his hand had just been resting. Tears spilled down my face as he turned and pressed his cheek against the deep emerald silk of my gown, squeezing me even more tightly. “My child.”

          The stars made their journey across the firmament as together, high above all Asgard City, we quietly rejoiced the new life the Norns had given us to nurture. I could only pray that the trials which had facilitated my life here were at and end and that we could finally put any unease behind us for good.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sudden reappearance of one of the realm's golden sons threatens to disrupt Sigyn's place as darling of Asgard

           Several weeks later, Loki and I were lying on a long, cushioned bench in the Queen’s rose garden, his hand in its perpetual place on the tiny bump under my dress while I nestled against his torso, tucked protectively under his arm. We were at low risk of discovery; Odin had convened his security council to review Asgard’s defences. There had been anomalies recently that indicated the Convergence, an even that occurred every five millennia, was imminent. Coupled with the Marauders that were terrorising the Nine Realms, there was still any number of threats that might take advantage of the phenomenon. For once I was grateful that Loki was on probation; I knew that the lure of causing mischief across all realms would be an irresistible draw for him. As a condition of his house arrest, Odin had used the Odinforce to bind Loki’s astral form to his body therefore rendering him unable to influence chaos from within confinement. I needed Loki more than ever and while standing on the sidelines silently ate at him, I knew that I would have his (nearly) undivided attention.

          “It will be harder to conceal my condition now that my cravings have set in,” I warned, my index finger listlessly tracing a pattern on the back of his hand. We had elected not to tell anyone about the baby yet, least of all Odin. Until such time as the physical evidence became too much to hide, my pregnancy would remain a secret. Undoubtedly all-seeing Heimdall knew but unless commanded by the Allfather to speak, his honour would protect us. It was difficult not to share the news with Hel and Frigga; Hel was just a child and, while one of the most discreet of anyone in Asgard, we refused to burden her with a secret she must keep from her grandparents. As for Frigga, the reasons were obvious. It was not right to tell her then ask to withhold the knowledge from her husband, the child's own grandfather.

          “Have you had any? There are ways to indulge in them without alerting the kitchen to anything amiss.”

          I shook my head sadly. “Not for anything in Asgard.”

          He furrowed his brow and turned his head to look at me. “What then?”

          “Just this morning, I had a fierce desire for a funnel cake drenched in powdered sugar and drizzled in honey.”

          “Funnel... cake? Is that some Midgardian fare?”

          I smiled ruefully. “I guess it is the weather that reminds me of it, but yes. On Midgard, during the summer we have carnivals that feature amusement rides, games, and the most unhealthy foods you can imagine. Candy floss. Corn dogs. And funnel cakes, dough that has been drizzled onto a pan in a circular fashion and then dropped in boiling oil so that it fries up into a puffy, sweet confection. Since being pregnant, I’ve become rather sentimental.”

          He took my admission better than I anticipated. I expected utter scorn but he just pressed his lips to my temple. “We long for things we cannot have, us both.”

          Knowing he referred to a throne, I opened my mouth to respond but was curtailed by a guard marching toward us, helmet tucked under his arm. Loki quickly slid the hand on my abdomen all the way across so it just appeared that he had his arm around me. I groaned when I recognized Odin’s lap dog Theoric.

          “Milord, milady,” he greeted with a bow.

          “Theoric,” Loki replied coolly. “You dare intrude on the Prince of Asgard and his wife?”

          The guard flushed at the admonition. “My apologies, sir. The Queen requests your attendance on her, Lady Sigyn.”

          “Thank you, Theoric,” I sighed with resignation. “Relay my message that I will arrive presently.”

          “Ma’am,” he nodded. “Sir.” With a swish of his saffron cape, he hurried back down the path toward the palace.

          Disengaging myself from the protection of Loki’s arms, I picked up the pair of metal vambraces I had earlier dropped on the ground and placed them back on my forearms. They were hot from the sun beating down overhead and I winced slightly as the metal touched my skin. “I suppose I will see you when I return to dress for the banquet.” I bent over and kissed him before heading toward the Queen’s Chambers. “Don’t get up to any mischief while I’m away!”

          He stretched out fully on the bench, lacing his fingers behind his head and closing his eyes. “I promise nothing,” he responded.

          “Sigyn!" Frigga greeted as I strolled into her receiving chamber. She linked an arm with mine and led me out, heading toward the grand reception areas of the palace. “As a Princess of Asgard, it is possible that one day you might be called upon to entertain in my absence. Most of the preparations are standard or are the product of many centuries of tradition, but as hostess, we still have a pivotal role in the planning.”

          The feasting hall was a flurry of activity as servants laid the table with the polished flatware and arranged the centrepieces of fruits and flowers. In the corner furthest from where we stood, half a dozen members of the staff were on their hands and knees polishing the floor, buffing it to such a shine that I could see clearly their reflection in the surface. Below the hall were the kitchens and the aroma of boar on the spit drifted up in the still summer air, setting off an immediate craving for some of the succulent, herbed meat. I held my breath so I would not have to inhale the scent longer than necessary, unsure how long I would be able to fight a craving that was for the first time attainable.

          “It is my job to choose the decorations for the celebration this eve, but I seek your input, daughter. You did a wonderful job in the chambers you share with Loki and I believe your eye for decor will be useful.”

          I scanned the room, catching my eyes on the blank wall behind the head table. “What will be on that wall?” I inquired, pointing to it.

            “It shall be left as is unless you have an idea.”

             I looked at Frigga, my mind envisioning the scene. “Will Thor and those returning from battle be bringing back banners of the vanquished?”

             “I do not know. Often they are given back to those defeated if their leader is killed in battle so it might be used as a shroud. If, however, they died nobly,” she explained. “Since they are Marauders, it is doubtful they would have banners.”

            “Or fought with nobility,” I muttered.

            “There is that as well,” Frigga agreed.

            “’Tis a shame. I would have loved to hang a banner or two there to show all who feast here that the warriors of Asgard return in triumph. Perhaps it could be arranged for tapestries depicting other great Asgardian victories to be raised over the table?”

            “I will see it is arranged. Any other ideas?”

            “Weaponry. Growing up, there was a colonial palace I loved visiting and on the walls and ceiling of the entry vestibule and the halls, weapons, displays of military might, were copiously exhibited. If they return with confiscated axes, swords, arrows, etcetera, they could be arranged on the walls.” I held up my forearms and crossed them in an X. “Axes over axes, swords crossed, great circles of arrows...”

            Frigga smiled. “You have grand ideas daughter. Grand ideas for a grand feast. We will see to it that your vision is achieved.”

          I bowed my head in appreciation. “Thank you, Mother.” I turned to leave but stopped and looked back. “If I might ask a favour...”

         “Anything, my dear.”

         “Could Loki and I bring Hel to the feast this eve? She misses Thor desperately and since it is unknown how long he will remain in Asgard before leaving to quell more insurrection, I think it would mean the world for her to at least be given permission to feast with us.”

          Frigga’s expression was soft. “Certainly she might. She is the granddaughter of the Allfather; it is only fitting that she be with the royal family as we celebrate victory.”

           I curtsied, my heart full of gratitude. “She will be ebullient, Mother. On behalf of my husband and myself, thank you.”

         Taking my leave, I hurried to Hel’s chamber to relay the news and invite her to my chambers to get ready for the event. I found her sitting on Loki’s lap as they studied a large, leather-bound book of spells, one of his long fingers tracing a line under a particularly difficult incantation. “Pay close attention to these runes, daughter. Confusing them could be disastrous.”

         “Not that you would know,” I teased, kneeling beside them and looking at the book. It was decorated with ancient art, the colours faded. A particularly gruesome looking man with old Viking clothing and a beastly face with a mane of black seemed to be in the midst of a dance or ritual, glee evident on his macabre visage. “You realise, Loki, this is a representation of how the old Norse tribes envisioned you, do you not?”

         Hel looked at her father, aghast. “But how? Father is so handsome! This is a monster!”

         Loki’s jaw tightened but he said nothing. I knew what was going through his mind. He saw himself as a monster regardless of what those who loved him said. He would never be convinced otherwise, but he would not admit it in front of his daughter.

         “The ancients who worshipped the Aesir and the Vanir, the Norns, and you, dearest child, did not know what the Asgardians truly looked like. There were few who were worthy enough to have been personally visited by a god or goddess. That was reserved for the day they entered Valhalla or Helheim. Only then would they witness the countenance of those whom they worshipped.” 

         “How did they see me?” she asked with interest.

         “Does it matter? Your step-mother has come with news, do you not?” he asked, avoiding her query.

         Hel looked startled by his reaction. Despite routinely snapping at everyone around him, it was unlike him to be so short with his daughter. “My apologies, daughter,” he soothed, gently closing the tome in his lap. “It has been centuries since the mortals worshipped us. I do not see the reasoning in discussing how they imagined us when how we see ourselves is the only view that matters.”

         “Speak for yourself, Loki,” I muttered, thinking of how reviled he was on Midgard.

         “Speak louder, wife. I must have missed your words,” he barked.

         “In your case it is a good thing that the opinions of mortals matter not.” I knelt down and held my hands out to Hel. “You are to join us at the feast this eve, child. Make haste and choose your favourite gown then shall hurry to my chambers where we shall get ready together, you and I!”

          Eyes dancing, she jumped down from the chair and around me, throwing open the doors on her wardrobe. As she riffled through the dresses inside, I shared a glance with Loki. His face was impassive following our brief exchange, but I could sense that his poker face was hiding pleasure at Hel’s inclusion in the upcoming feast.

          “This one!” she declared, twirling around with a dress of shiny silver silk. Smiling at her excitement, I took the dress in one hand and hers in the other and walked from the room. “Can I have my hair done like yours? And line my eyes in kohl?”

         “No,” stated Loki flatly, following us down the hall.

         “But Father…” Hel protested, her lower lip quivering as she twisted around to look back at him.

          “Do not argue. You have no need for artifice, daughter. Nor do you, Sigyn, though I cannot dictate  _your_  appearance.”

          Hel pouted, looking up at me for my direction. “I am sorry, dear child, but your father is correct. Only those with something to hide wear cosmetics. You have a pure beauty without need of enhancement.”

         I could tell she was upset by my concurrence with Loki, but she did not argue. It broke my heart enough to tell her no, but defending that argument would have been even more difficult so I was relieved when she did not press the issue further. The last thing I wanted to resort to was the flimsy words "because I said so".

        Loki headed straight for his chair in front of the fire, picking up a book and settling into the cushions. Hel and I retreated into my dressing room and summoned ladies’ maids to arrange our hair and rub fragrant oil into our skin. My pregnancy becoming slightly more noticeable, I only allowed my arms and legs to be massaged.

         Re-emerging from the room, Hel twirled, her gown flying out around her. “How do I look, Father?”

         Looking up from his book, Loki smiled. “Lovely, daughter. Lovely.” He stood and walked toward us, a golden light briefly enveloping him. When he reached us, he was clad in the black and gold ensemble he had chosen for the evening. “Goldenrod, Sigyn?” he asked, eyeing me up and down.

          “It does wonders for my complexion, does it not?” I asked, lifting a layer of the filmy chiffon skirt and shaking it, the fabric rippling.

          “You look radiant,” he complimented, offering me his arm. Taking it, I knew he was referring less to my complexion and more to the glow of impending motherhood. To anyone not in the know, it would merely appear that my skin reflected the yellow sheen of the fabric in the firelight. 

         Hel took off after Thor as soon as we entered the banqueting hall, squealing with delight when he lifted her into the air and spun around, laughing. Even Loki’s expression softened somewhat, putting distance between Theoric's interruption and the mention of monsters in Hel's room. Strolling to our seats at the head table, I beamed and nodded at everyone we passed, feeling completely happy and secure for the first time since arriving in Asgard. With Loki's child in my womb- an heir to the throne- it would be that much harder to dislodge me from my position in the Realm Eternal.

       “Sigyn, you are looking lovely this evening,” Iduna praised as she approached, greeting me with a light kiss on my cheek. Were it not for feeling so confident in my own glow, I would have been envious of her beauty. Blonde hair curled and arranged in an elaborate hairdo, the gown of pale rose brought out the rosiness of her creamy skin. Her dewy beauty was perfectly fitting for the the goddess of Youth. Returning her greeting, I untucked my arm from Loki’s and he drifted off to procure drinks for us, leaving me to speak freely with one of the few people I counted as a friend. 

        “You are most kind, Iduna. Tell me, have you heard from Freyja of late? I’ve had no word since she departed for Vanaheim via Bifröst.”

       Iduna shook her head. “Nay, nary a word. I am sure she is busy collecting the souls of the dead following the battles, especially as she has her choice of the fallen warriors with the Allfather too occupied to select new residents for Valhalla.”

          I glanced around the room and spied Odin speaking to Thor, seeming small and frail next to his son despite his august presence. “He pushes on despite his need for the Odinsleep. With all that happened previously and the unrest across the realms, I believe he fears what would happen if he took the time to rest.” My gaze drifted to Loki, who was at least making an attempt to socialise but I noticed how close Fandral was keeping his hand to the grip of his sword. 

          Iduna did not offer a verbal response, but from her expression I could read her thoughts. All of Asgard shared those fears with Odin, and with good reason. I knew as well as anyone that Loki was not to be trusted.

          Near the entrance to the hall, a commotion flared. Joyous shouts and applause filled the room, drawing my attention toward a gathering crowd. Loki marched to my side, polishing off his wine. “Balder,” he stated spitefully, slamming the empty goblet down on a tray. “Another of Asgard’s wayward sons returns home.”

          “Balder?” I asked confused. “I do not recall him.”

         “Nor would you. He left many years hence as emissary to Karnilla, the Norn Queen, but he fell in love with her and has remained as her consort in all but name since.”

         “In all but name? Seems like Odin would have been eager to approve such an alliance, a diplomatic union.”

         My husband sneered, magically refilling his goblet. “If Balder wasn’t already wed. Nana, his wife, has been inconsolable with grief these past centuries. Cuckolded by the Sun of Asgard, Balder the Brave.”

          Somewhere deep down I knew that in all likelihood, Loki himself would not be above it, but I kept my mouth shut. The figure clad in violet-blue and silver was approaching, a broad smile spread across his handsome face. I knew why Loki referred to him as the Sun of Asgard- tall, blonde, muscular, and extremely well-proportioned, he was possibly even more handsome than Thor and the diametric opposite of Loki’s darkly handsome looks. Women in the hall were swooning, whispering behind their hands, and blushing at the sight of the man. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Thor set Hel on her feet and embrace the man, their deep laughter filled with happiness. The girl giggled when Balder took his index finger and quickly tipped her chin up at him, addressing her as his ‘little goddess.’ Apprehensive as he drew closer, I wished my step-daughter would come stand with her father and I, but she was attached to Thor and enamoured of the newcomer.

          “Loki, brother!” Balder greeted in a loud, boisterous voice, pulling the dark haired man into an embrace.  _Brother?_  “It has been many years, too many. How fares the silver-tongued one?”

           Loki stiffened, not returning the hug. “I am well, Balder.” Pulling away from the one who referred to him as brother, my husband waved his hand to the side. “I am wed. Please meet my wife, the Lady Sigyn, Princess of Asgard.”

           Smiling despite my bafflement, I extended my hand. “Welcome home, dear Balder. Asgard is overjoyed at your return.” 

           “As am I, especially when greeted by such beauty. All had expected Loki to be the last of us to take a bride but once again he surprises us all.” Turning back to Loki, he clasped his hand over the bronze shoulder plate, covering the engraving of Fenrir. “‘Tis a shame that I must soon return to Nornheim; I am sure you have tales most exciting from your recent wanderings, brother. But we shall save those for another time. Now that Bifröst is repaired, I must meet with the Allfather regarding the state of the alliance between him and the Norn queen, Karnilla.” Nodding his head to me, he moved on, making his way to Odin and Frigga.

_“Brother,_ Loki? Brother?” I hissed, not breaking my smile.  

         “Yes, brother. Son of Odin and Frigga. Until he and Karnilla became lovers, he was even more beloved than Thor. Balder could do no wrong. Brave Balder. Beautiful Balder,” he mocked as we watched Frigga warmly embrace her son. “How they welcome him with open arms.”

           Though I did not know Balder, I too felt jealousy at his sudden appearance in the palace. Perhaps it was just hormones, but it was just as likely that my selfish streak was getting the better of me. Until moments ago, I was still the darling of the Aesir court. He was competition. I was attempting to rehabilitate Loki’s image; gentle, faithful Sigyn, wife of the evil prince. The only person in whose presence the god of Mischief was seen smiling. I was instrumental to Loki earning back trust in Asgard.  

           Throughout the banquet, attention focused on Balder. Thor, Sif, and the Warriors Three seemingly did not mind that attention had shifted from them and their victories. Loki and I however sat side by side, silent amongst the chaos around us. For the first time in the months since my first appearance, I understood how Loki must have felt growing up. Overshadowed by Thor and Balder, his quicksilver ways were constantly underappreciated next to the sheer brawn of his brothers.

           Beside me, Loki drank goblet after goblet of wine, beads of sweat appearing on his brow as he grew more and more inebriated. Looking down at my chilled apple-pear cider, I was petulant that I dared not use wine to dull my boredom. When he reached for his twelfth refill, I gently laid my hand on his forearm. “Do you not think that is enough, darling? You are well in your cups by now.”

        “Cease thy prattling, woman!” he snapped, pounding the table with his fist. “I’ve no need for your wifely concern.”

        Taken aback, I pulled my arm away, resting my hands demurely in my l lap and hanging my head, fighting back tears. Beside him, Hel was staring at her father with wide-eyed apprehension. Balder’s appearance had united us for a few hours; for the first time, I truly felt that Loki and I had found common ground. Any terrain we might have covered was being erased drink by drink, a gorge of the finest spiced wine from Vanaheim.

          Thor glanced over at the commotion, his eyes taking in the sneer on Loki’s face as well as Hel’s and my reactions but he did not intervene. He knew that to do so would incite his brother’s wrath and start a scene and the purpose of the evening was to pay homage to the warriors who vanquished yet another band of marauders, not to bring attention to his sour-tempered younger brother. 

          As soon as I felt it was decent to do so, I made my excuses and led Hel from the hall, my hand on her shoulder as I walked the child to her room. “Why is Father so cross?” she asked. “He is even more distempered than usual.”

           “He is unhappy at not having his freedom. Being confined to the palace with his magic severely limited is not how he would live his life,” I explained, trying to simplify without insulting her intelligence or making him seem petulant. Loki was a caged animal, feral and dangerous. There was no outlet for his aggression, the pent up ire in his blood that built day by day. Balder’s sudden arrival in Asgard had sent him into a tailspin of bitterness and, taking to his cups, he lashed out at those who loved him most. It had become more and more common lately, despite his earlier attempts to be somewhat decent toward those around him. I was afraid of what would happen the longer he was restrained.

           “It is no way for anything to live,” she concurred. “Even Fenrir, dangerous as he is, is bound by a golden leash, never allowed to run free. Jormungandr can never let go of his tail lest the seas of Midgard rise. I am destined to one day rule in Nifilheim, to keep watch over the inglorious dead. And you, step-mother; you hardly leave the palace because of Father. It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair at all.”

          I squeezed her slim shoulder, biting the inside of my lip to prevent tears from falling. No, it wasn’t fair. Hel and I were suffering for things Loki had done and punishments meted out by Odin. Even now I was anxious about revealing to Odin the news that I carried Loki’s child in my womb lest he attempt to take it away too. “You can sleep in my rooms tonight. We will have a ‘sleepover’ as it is called where I am from. You and I.”

         She looked up at me quizzically. “Sleep… over?”

         I nodded. “Yes! We can talk about anything you like! I can have my maids arrange our hair so it is curled just perfectly in the morning, we can have massages that leave us sleepy, drink hot chocolate, or we could splash around in the fountain if we are feeling especially cheeky!”

         “Is this a Midgardian tradition? Did you do these things?”

         My smile faltered, memories of the things I abandoned flooding back. The friends, the many nights we spent at one another’s houses or on trips. How, with time they transitioned from girlish fracas consisting of manicures, karaoke, and truth or dare to catching up on life, love, and everything else over a bottle of wine or quietly watching a flick starring the latest Hollywood heartthrob. I did my mourning for those days when I joined SHIELD and married my soul to the pursuit of world domination. Reminiscing now would not do.

         “Yes, they are, my dear. I will have one of my ladies fetch your nightdress and anything else you want. Won’t this be fun?” I posed, buoying my spirit as much as hers.

          Tonight while Loki sought solace in his cups, I would seek to shelter his daughter from the darkness that was slowly reclaiming her father.

 

            Loki staggered into the bedroom many hours later, rousing me from my sleep. Beside me, Hel slept soundly on, undisturbed by the commotion he was causing. Rising from the bed, I watched as he stumbled toward the balcony and leaned as far over the railing as he could before becoming violently sick. Knowing first-hand how much ale and spirits it took for an Asgardian to become drunk, I could not imagine the quantity which he had to imbibe to fall into such a state. He was far more inebriated than I had been on Midsummer. I pitied him but there was also a knot of fear in my stomach. I could not identify the source of the uneasiness other than my husband’s drunkenness, but there was some threat of which my body was warning me.

           Finished retching, he pulled the back of his hand across his mouth and smiled at me, a threatening, sinister sneer that chilled me to my very bones. “You left the party early, dear Sigyn,” he slurred, advancing on me.

           “I did not wish to stay and bear witness to whatever disgrace you brought upon your head this eve,” I explained coolly. Every muscle in my body screamed to move, to shake Hel awake and flee. The child had no business seeing her father in his present state and I was afraid that, inhibitions dulled by drink, he would take out his fury at Balder’s return on the closest target: me. But she was still sleeping peacefully and Loki was as yet unaware of her presence.

            “Disgrace?  _Disgrace,_ Sigyn? I remember not so long ago you yourself were nearly tripping over yourself in the streets of Asgard and caterwauling your quaint Midgardian love songs throughout the palace yet you lecture me on disgrace? Or can you not see your own shit on your knees, oh faithful goddess?”

             I wanted to simultaneously slap him and run from the room crying. His words hit a nerve. I could explain the differences in the situation as I saw them until my voice was hoarse but he was so set in his own self-righteousness that my words would carry no more weight than smoke on the wind. His biting accusation cut deep into my own self-assurance, making me question if there really was any difference. Even drunk and swaying, Loki’s words had a way of dismantling me.

            “I’ll not hear any more of this tonight. You are too far gone to hold any rational conversation. I have left you a blanket and pillows on the sofa in your library for you are not welcome in my bed tonight, Loki.”

           “You dare deny me the right to sleep in my own bed?” he accused, voice rising. Despite the darkness in the room, I could see the colour rising in his cheeks as he moved two steps closer to where I stood. “You would not be in that bed,” he spat, pointing at the mahogany four poster, “were it not for me!”

           “I am not arguing this with you again. All our fights come down to you throwing it in my face that I would not be in Asgard without you. That I would not have an ally in my ambition to rule Earth if not for you. Fine.  _I owe you_. Now get the hell out of my sight before I summon a legion of einherjar to do it for you!”

          “You haven’t the authority…”

          “The hell I don’t. All I need to do to have you thrown back in the dungeon is to reveal my condition to Odin and state I feel threatened. His Red Hawks would have you chained and incarcerated so fast your head would spin. If you do not leave this chamber this instant, I will do just that.”

          The blurriness that glazed his eyes just moments ago was gone, replaced by wrath. He might not have the best comprehension of what love is, but he understood enough to know I was not pretending. If I thought he was a threat to our child, I would not hesitate to seek Odin’s protection. Glaring, he lumbered past me, slamming the door so hard I flinched.

           Cradling the bump on my belly that, while still imperceptible to most, steadily continued to grow rounder with each passing day, I lay still as a statue in bed, scared that Loki would return. Once I finally felt safe that he was indeed gone for the night, I wiped away my tears and, listening to Hel’s steady breathing next to me, fell to sleep. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn goes out for a chance to clear her head, Loki makes a conciliatory gesture, and Balder comes to say goodbye

Perched on my horse, I rode unescorted through the streets to Iduna’s seaside palace. Earlier I had seen Hel off to her lessons and made sure that Loki was still alive before carefully folding a short tunic and bathing sheet into a bag and slipping to the stables. With everyone either sleeping off the festivities of the night before or congregating around Balder, it was not difficult to leave unnoticed.

From our rooms high in the palace, it was hard to truly see and appreciate the Asgard most of its citizens knew. The vista I looked over from my balcony was of Bifröst and the sea, mountains to the east, and the spires of golden structures that soared high into the clouds. The medina with its cobbled streets, timbered and thatched houses, and shops was lost below all this. It was only once you were on its level that one could truly appreciate the real Asgard.

Stomach growling from having neglected the breakfast set out by my household servants, I reined in at a bakery and dismounted, inhaling the aroma of fresh baked goods. Fat loaves of golden bread, pastries filled with fruit, and even sandwiches- warm and cold-cut- enticed passers-by. I smiled at the baker and requested a brioche-like bun with layers of warm roast boar and cheese, dropping a copper coin in his palm. “Oh no, Your Highness! We could not accept your money! It is an honour to serve the Princess of Asgard!”

          “I cannot accept your generosity; it is my pleasure to pay a deserving price. Consider this a tax refund,” I replied with a smile.

          “Thank you, ma’am!” he enthused, bowing from the waist while signalling for his son to assist me back into my saddle. “May the Norns continue to smile upon you!”

          I grasped the reins as I nodded in acknowledgement of the bakers blessing. “And you as well, good sir. Good morrow!”

           My jaunt through the City of Asgard was not entirely altruistic, however. In fact, it was anything but. After our fight last night and Balder’s sudden reappearance in the palace, I had to make sure I was still beloved by the common folk of the realm. I needed to be seen. I needed to interact, to be a tangible presence of royalty in their midst.  I hadn’t been outside the palace enclosure since Litha and the feeling of meandering my way through the streets was liberating. I could venture where I wished, stop where I wanted, and interact with whomever I pleased. During the festival, I met so many ‘normal’, everyday citizens, and it was important from a political and relational standpoint that I continue to foster the image I created. The child I carried in my womb might have quenched my desire for ruling and conquest for now, but when the time came, I would need to cash in on these bonds.

          Hrafn greeted me at the gates of Iduna’s palace, waving me through in his quiet, gentle manner. “Is there any way I can be of assistance to her highness?”

          “No thank you, Hrafn. I am here to take a swim in the sea one last time before the weather turns.” I dismounted in the courtyard, untying my bag from the saddle. “I will summon you when I am ready to leave.”

          He bowed and took the reins, leading my mare toward the stable as I strolled toward the pathway that led to the sea. The briny air swept across the rocky breakwater that bordered marble walk, the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks a comforting roar. Midwifes frequently stated that a leisurely swim was a fantastic exercise to partake in whilst pregnant. I loved the ocean and being near water in general; instantly I felt calmed by the expanse of clear turquoise water. Regardless what turmoil I felt, I could leave it on the shore, cast it off with my gown.

          Iduna and Bragi were not in residence at the time; she had set out immediately after the feast to harvest her apples in preparation for the onset of cooler weather and her husband packed his lute and parchment to accompany her. Iduna was a lovely woman, with a quiet kindness and patience, but I sought isolation. There was no place to change but there was nary a soul in sight so I stripped my dress off, casting it aside as I shook my hair out of its long braid. The air felt refreshing and soft against my bare skin, caressing me as wisps of hair tickled my face and lower back, hovering on the breeze. Nobody except maybe a servant would see me and then they would only have a view of my backside. There was nothing ahead of me except the Sea of Marmora that flowed into the limitless Sea of Space. If anything could indulge my isolation, it was considering the vastness of the universe. I contemplated wearing nothing between my skin and the water but convinced myself it would be best to pull on the short cotton tunic to protect my modesty. Isolated as this private stretch of rocky shore was, I did not entirely trust there were no eyes watching me.

          The water was warm as I waded into it, the sparkling surface rippling at my slow intrusion. It seemed odd to me that here I was, chest deep in the water, but my baby, safe and protected in my womb, was completely submerged. I stifled the brief panic that rose is my breast; midwives had been saying for years that light swimming was one of the best neo-natal exercises. I was already in robust physical health. A few strokes in the water would be beneficial in more ways than one. I leaned back and let the buoyancy do the rest of the work, smiling at the feel of the sun’s warmth upon my face.

          Quickly I lost track of time. Lost in my own world, I pushed all the negativity from my mind with every stroke, keeping tempo with the music in my mind. Forward, backward, diving under the surface; I was a nymph, a water sprite. No wonder so many songs, poems, and books had been written praising the emotional healing quality of water. Such a simple pleasure, one I had been missing out on for so long. There was a pool at the palace but there was something about the tang of saltwater on your lips that reminded one they were still alive.

          Based on the sun, I had been in the water at least two hours. Reluctantly, I made my way back toward land. There were no pressing matters for me to attend to, but I also knew I couldn’t idly while away my time or continue to avoid my problems. I could float on the swells all day and contemplate Loki, Balder, when the best time to announce my pregnancy to Odin and the rest of Asgard but thinking about them did not change the problems themselves, only my perception of them.

          Every other thought flew straight out of my head when, back on dry land, I looked down as I reached for the sheet I brought to dry myself. The tunic I wore was sodden and nearly transparent, clinging to every curve of my body. The roundness of my abdomen was more pronounced under the material, even more so somehow than when unclothed. A smile spread across my face as I cradled it, tears forming at the strength of the love I felt for the life I nurtured inside my body. “Already you are more loved than you will ever know, dear child,” I cooed. Balder’s crashing the feast and my fight with a drunken Loki last night were just small incidents. The advent of new life was of far greater importance. It was all about perspective and my child was all the perspective I needed.

 

          “Sigyn?” Loki called as I entered the vestibule in our suite, emerging from the formal seating area to the right of the fountain.

          Some part of me wanted to be mad at him for his words last night, for his behaviour in front of not just myself but Hel, but I remembered my revelation. _Small things_. He could have handled the situation much better but he had made a point; I too had found solace from my problems at the bottom of a stein of mead… regardless if I still stubbornly believed there was a difference in those situations. Instead, I held my hands out to him as he leaned down to kiss my cheek. “How do you fare this afternoon, husband?”

          “My behaviour last night was remiss. As such, I have sought to make amends for my words. Come, I have something to show you.”

          Of course he wouldn’t actually say he was sorry or verbally apologise. Both of my hands still resting on his palms, he walked backward down the passage toward our bedchamber, a mischievous smirk brightening his usually scowling face. Whatever this surprise was, he was proud of it.

          Inside the chamber, to the left of the doorway, was another door that led into a small circular room that remained unused. “Close your eyes,” he instructed, placing one hand on the handle.

          I chuckled, unexpectedly remembering our wedding night when he had told me to open my eyes. Then, just as now, I was facing something unknown and it was at the hands of Loki. How things had changed in the intervening year. Last year, I would have gone along with this out of fear. Now I did it because, despite every instinct, disregarding the advice of everyone else, I trusted the trickster.

          Light penetrated my eyelids as he pulled me inside. Circling around to stand behind me, his hands sneaked around my waist to hold me close. “Open your eyes,” he whispered into my ear.

          I gasped, taken aback. Situated in the centre of the room was a cradle. The warm wood was shiny with the patina of the centuries it had undoubtedly been in use and had delicate, intricate carvings depicting the three Norns who lived beneath the World’s Tree. A canopy of ivory chiffon cascaded down, gently swaying in the breeze coming in from the windows. A rocking chair with tapestry cushion waited for an occupant, ready to be used to lull our heir to sleep. I was willing to overlook his lack of using words to apologise; he had furnished the nursery for our first child.  

          “Have you anything to say?” Loki prompted, holding me tighter. “Diminished as my magic is, this was no simple task.”

          “Thank you, Loki” I whispered. “It is perfect, but…”

          “What is it?”

          “This room is missing something.” I stepped out of his embrace and hurried down the hall into the entrance vestibule. Hung on the wall beside the door to the breakfast nook where I had eaten my first mean in Asgard was the tapestry Frigga had woven. Loki raised his eyebrows when I stepped inside the room again and handed it to him. “Right there,” I indicated, pointing at the stone facing the front of the cradle.

           Reviewing his handiwork, he stepped back and nodded, crossing his arms. Loki and I on our wedding day, immortalised in this work of art that would now look over our son or daughter as they slumbered. “Now it is perfect indeed.”

          Fingering the soft chiffon, I walked past the cradle to look out the window. Opposite of the view from our own bedroom, I beheld the gardens and the mountains far beyond. There was no hustle and bustle of the city from this vista; it was peaceful and green, the tallest artificial object a statue in the gardens. “I wish to paint stars on the ceiling. In paint of gold so they sparkle when the light from the night sky hits them.”

          “I will make it so. Anything else?”

          “One more.”

          I turned to him again, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck. “You.” He offered no resistance when I pulled his face to mine, sighing as his lips met mine.

          “Sigyn, beloved, I cannot…” he began, pulling away.

          “Shhh, my love,” I consoled, clasping his wrist. “You won’t break me. It’s perfectly healthy.”

          A dubious look quickly crossed his face before he took me into his arms, crushing my lips beneath his. I practically leapt when he cupped my buttocks, lifting me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, holding on tightly as our clothing vanished away. I still hadn’t quite become used to that particular trick but it certainly saved time, especially in frenzied moments such as this.

          “Take me now,” I pleaded. No build-up, no fanfare.

          Pinning me against the wooden door, he bent his knees and eased into me, almost as if he didn’t believe my words. My cry of pleasure seemed to convince him and he pulled almost all the way out before plunging back into me, rattling the door. “It’s been too long,” he growled.

          “Just shut up and make love to me,” I demanded, grabbing a fistful of hair. I could taste the need on his lips, feel it in the roughness of his thrusts. It had been weeks since we had been intimate. Daily a need for release had been building with no relief in sight and now that my body had what it craved, I was spiralling out of control, unable to hold back my screams as my orgasm hit. I collapsed in his arms, feeling his muscles clench as he reached his peak.

          Still carrying me, he moved and swung the door open and moved into the bedroom, laying me out on the bed. “By Volla, these curves become you,” he complimented. As my pregnancy progressed, my breasts had begun to swell and my nipples darkened, my hips becoming softer and rounder as my body changed. I was far enough along that I had abandoned the breast plates regularly worn by Asgardian women; at four months I was just big enough that the bottom edge cut uncomfortably into my belly when sitting. Even my face, enhanced by the fabled ‘glow of motherhood’, was softer, the angles of my cheekbones less sharp. Deep down I had worried that his desire for me would decrease over the coming months but for once, I believed his protestations.

          The sun set over Asgard as we continued to make love, bathing us in a golden glow. We skipped the gathering in the great hall, choosing instead to send Farda to fetch us a meal from the kitchens. There would be repercussions for neglecting our stations and not attending, but it mattered not.

          I had my husband back and that was all that counted.

 

 

Two days later, I was sitting on the edge of the fountain in the antechamber, embroidering a presentation gown of white silk when there was a knock on the door. Farda opened it, admitting Balder into our rooms. “Sister, I hope you don’t mind that I have come to call on you and my brother before I leave?”

I stood, carefully laying the fabric out on the ledge. To anyone who might notice the project, I would explain I was fulfilling my charitable duty by sewing a ceremonial gown for a townswoman of lowly means; in reality, it was for the day when, two weeks after the birth, our child would be laid before Loki and he would have to decide to spurn the child or pick it up and claim it as his own.

Speaking of whom, Loki emerged from the formal seating area at the sound of Balder’s voice, his expression stony. “Balder,” he said simply. There was no warmth in his voice, no emotion whatsoever. He did not want the God of Light anywhere near his personal realm and he would seek to make his brother feel as unwelcome as possible.

“Certainly not, Balder,” I lied. “Please have a seat and let me have my maid bring us some wine…”

“I wish that I could but unfortunately I must make haste back to Nornheim and make my report to Karnilla. I sought to express my regret that I did not have the time to better make your acquaintance, my lady. I hope that we shall meet again soon, under less pressing circumstances. When balance is restored to the realms.” He smiled, taking my hands in his. “I should like to have a sister.”

Behind me, Loki made a disgruntled noise but I ignored him. We at least had to keep up the charade. Once Balder was gone, I would be back to the darling of the realm and Loki the only son of Odin currently in Asgard, the couple second only to Odin and Frigga. We would announce that I was with child. All would be well in the Nine Worlds.

“And it would be a credit to have a brother as brave and dashing as you, dear Balder. Fate go with you as you journey back to Nornheim.” I allowed him to kiss my cheek before he made his way over to Loki.

“It was good to see you again, Loki. I hope your life with Sigyn is as harmonious as mine with Karnilla.”

“It is a shame the same cannot be said for Nana, your lawful wife. Unlike Karnilla, Sigyn is bound to me by marriage.”

_“Loki!”_ I hissed, appalled.

Balder looked abashed at Loki’s barb, but he did not rise to anger. “Nana and I agreed to, ah, go our separate ways ages ago.”

“For such a mutual separation, she has not taken to it as happily as you. In fact, she has hardly been seen since. She is still in the deepest mourning from what I understand. She is such a recluse that in the span of the six seasons she has lived in Asgard, my own wife has never met yours. But better she meet your wife than your lover.”

Humiliated, I felt hot, angry tears along my lower lash line. Balder charged at Loki, the latters’ words finally hitting their mark. “No!” I screamed, hurling myself between the two men.

“You are indeed a lucky man that your wife would seek to defend you so,” Balder declared, glaring at Loki. “I should be happy if she makes the acquaintance of Nana.” He bowed to me, slowly backing toward the entrance. “I apologise for disturbing you.”

“Loki, what were you thinking, goading him so?” I asked once the heavy double doors had closed.

“Old habits die hard,” he replied dismissively, walking back toward the drawing room. “Once you have lived as long as I have, you will understand. I can sense changes coming Sigyn, but some things never do. ”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A figure from Loki's past arrives, changing everyone's lives forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have for right now, the end of Part One. I am currently working on Part Two and will start posting as soon as I have enough and have been through the editing process. Thanks for reading!

“What is this?” Hel asked, pointing at the painting of a golden Egyptian sarcophagus. Restlessly browsing the great palace library earlier in the day, I happened upon a niche filled with books on ancient Midgardian history. I excitedly gathered a selection of the fine, leather-bound, beautifully illuminated books and brought them back to our quarters, sitting with her on the edge of the ornamental pool while the cool Autumn breeze swirled through the vestibule. Together, I regaled her with the history of the ancient cultures of Egypt, Greece, and Rome. As the Goddess of the Underworld, it came as no surprise that she was fascinated by the process of mummification. The removal of the organs, the embalming, everything about the procedure elicited excited questions from the child.

          “It is a sarcophagus,” I informed her, explaining that the final process of mummification was the placement of the prepared and linen-wrapped body in a vessel of solid gold inlaid with precious and semi-precious gems, then that would be laid within another, and another, then finally entombed within the King’s Burial Chamber. “They believed if they were not properly mummified and entombed, they would not enter the afterlife.”

          “What afterlife did they believe in? Certainly they do not go to Nifilheim,” she stated.

          “They believed in an underworld ruled by the jackal-headed god Anubis, but other than that, it has been so many years since I studied the ancient Egyptian religion that I don’t remember anything more. In Midgardian years, I was no more older than you,” I teased, touching my fingertip to her nose.

          Giggling, Hel snuggled in closer to me. “Have you ever seen one of these… sarcophaguses?”

          “I have!” I declared proudly. “Several, actually. On Earth, they have repositories called museums in which things such as this are displayed. Mummies, statues, jewels, animals, art… almost anything you can think of are in museums.”

          She looked up at me, eyes bright. “Can you take me? Can we go to Midgard to see one?”

          I smiled sadly at her. “We will have to talk to you father. I can’t go to Midgard lest I be recognized, but maybe we can work something out and we can go to a city in Egypt called Cairo and see all the mummies after the baby is born. Your father can transform how we look and we can go and make up a whole new identity for ourselves!”

          “I hope the baby comes soon so we can go, mother!” she enthused, rubbing her palm on my belly. “How much longer?”

          Three weeks after Balder departed, Loki suggested we let Hel in on our little secret. She was a child but also the most discreet of anyone in Asgard. She had been overjoyed at the news, greeting it with many hugs and questions. Plans were to reveal the news to Odin and Frigga in two days time, once there were no representatives of other realms roaming the halls. I had lately taken to spending more and more time within the sanctuary of our suite; soon it would be impossible to conceal it and I was tired of hiding behind flowing fashions and excuses.

          “Soon after spring returns to the Plain of Ida. Just a few more months then you will have a little brother or sister.”

          “I want a sister. I already have Fenrir, Jormungandr, and Sleipnir. Three brothers are enough.”

          “Can I tell you a secret?” I whispered, leaning down toward her, resting my forehead on hers.

          “Yes!” she replied, raising her eyebrows in anticipation.

          “I want a little girl too.”

          “Really?” she breathed, her eyes wide.

          “Really,” I confirmed, lightly kissing her forehead. “You’ll be the perfect big sister, no matter if it is a boy or a girl.”

          Just then, there was a commotion in the hall and a guard burst into the chamber, the door banging loudly against the wall. He paused and scanned the room, his eyes coming to rest where Hel and I sat at the table. I stood and stepped sideways, placing myself between Hel and the man, using my hand to guide the girl to stand behind my back.

          “What is the meaning of your intrusion, guard? Is there trouble in the palace?” I questioned with as much authority as I could muster.

          “No. I have found what I am looking for.” With a sneer, his appearance changed, and in an instant a huge, female Jötunn stood in front of me. “Lady Sigyn, I presume?” she jeered, her voice deep and sinister.

          “Depends who is asking, Jötunn,” I challenged with more confidence than I felt. Other than the one occasion Loki had revealed his Jötunn form to me, I had never seen a Frost Giant and certainly never had a fully grown one break into my quarters and address me by name. In truth, I was terrified. No guards rushed to my aid and Loki was elsewhere. With my husband under strict confinement to the palace, we were denied the protection of weaponry in our rooms and the dagger I wore when Odin proclaimed me Goddess of Fidelity was in my wardrobe. I stood alone and defenceless. “What is your purpose here in Asgard?”

          “I seek only that which is mine,” she replied cryptically, her vibrantly red eyes boring into mine.

          “ _Angrboða,_ ” I said through clenched teeth. Although it was still a shaky connection at best, I opened my mind to Loki and cried out to him mentally, praying that my mayday would be received. It was humiliating that I was not able to handle this threat on my own, but I was not equipped to do so and I had the child within my body to think about. The stole around my shoulders hid the slight roundness of my bump and I forced myself not to place a protective hand over it. It was frightening enough that the baby was the only thing that stood between the Jötunn and I; I would do nothing to alert Angrboða to my pregnancy.

          “I see Loki has told you about me,” she answered. “Tell me, how fares my children?”

          My grasp on Hel’s slender shoulder tightened at her query, but I did not restrain her when I felt the girl peer around me. “Mother?” she asked.

          “Hela, my dear daughter,” Angrboða said, kneeling down and opening her arms. There was no warmth in her voice and I wanted to hold the girl back, to tell her to stay behind me, but I couldn’t. I did not know what purpose the Frost Giant had for being here, but preventing her daughter from embracing her would no doubt incur her wrath.

          Almost as if she could read my thoughts, Hel took my hand in both of hers and looked up at me. “It is alright, my lady,” she reassured. “I want to do this.”

          It was torture to watch her slender figure walk across the gap between Angrboða and I. “ _Loki! If you hear me, please! We need you!_ ” I pleaded, concentrating on relaying my message with every bit of strength in my body. Between my fear for Hel and myself, my restraint, and sending a telekinetic SOS to my husband, I was feeling weak and sick, which, possessing the Asgardian attributes of superhuman strength and immunity, startled me as well. Petrified, all I could do was watch as Hel slowly strode toward her birth mother and into her arms.

          I could sense the child’s hesitation. At first, she stood rigidly in the cold embrace as if accepting it like a martyr. Eventually Hel warmed and wrapped her arms around the huge blue woman. For no more than a few seconds, it seemed as though I was watching a contented mother-daughter reunion until Angrboða suddenly slumped in Hel’s arms. The tiny girl released the slack body of the Jötunn, letting it fall to the floor.

          I gasped in horror at the sight in front of me. Hel cast a disgusted glance at the body of the woman who had given birth to her before running to my side and entwining her arms around my waist, burying her face in the folds of my gown. My little Hel, goddess of the Underworld, who possessed instant death in her fingertips, had just taken the life of a Frost Giant.

          “Hel!” I exclaimed, kneeling down and placing my hands on either side of her face. “Daughter! What you hath wrought!”

          “We are safe, mother. You and I, the baby... Father and Asgard. All of us! Safe!”

          “But child,” I continued, my voice a concerned whisper. “She was your mother. The woman who gave you life! A survivor of an endangered species!”

          “I hated her,” she hissed. “She was no mother to me. I was born in a cave in Jötunnheim and had it not been for Fenrir keeping me warm and Jormungandr providing me food, I’d have died in that cave long before Father came to take my brothers and I to Asgard with him. I’m glad she is dead.”

          Somehow we needed to get rid of the body but right then, my concern was for Hel, my step-daughter who had begun to shake. With fury, with fear, I was not sure, but I wrapped my arms around her, holding the trembling child close to me.

          “What is this?” Loki questioned as he ran into the room. “Sigyn? Hel?” His eyes darted from the body on the floor to where Hel and I were crouched in front of the lesson table before scanning the room for more potential threats. Where there was one Frost Giant, there undoubtedly more to follow.

          “Father!” Hel screeched, rushing to his side and holding tight to his waist. He tucked her head under his arm protectively, looking at me for an explanation. I stood and glanced from the body to Hel, nodding my head ever so slightly at the girl, indicating what had transpired. Loki’s eyes narrowed as he glared at the lifeless Jötunn on the floor.

          “Are the two of you well and safe?” he queried, looking back at me.

          “Just in shock,” I assured. “How did she get in?”

          “Angrboða always was a talented sorceress. Perhaps she used the same spells I used to bring some of her own people into Asgard before Thor’s aborted coronation,” he suggested. “I cannot say, however, that I am unhappy to see her dead.”

          “I most certainly am not either, but what will we do with her? We need to get rid of the body before anyone discovers what has transpired.”

          Loki and I stood, staring at concernedly at each other over the body of Angrboða for some moments, our eyes conveying our uneasiness. There were very few ways in which to covertly dispose of a dead Frost Giant, even for one with as much mastery of seiðr as Loki. “Leave it to me. Nobody ever needs to know.”

          “What is the meaning of this?” Odin thundered, storming into the room flanked by several members of his personal guard. “I demand an explanation!”

           “This abomination was threatening the safety of my wife and daughter. I dealt with it as I saw fit,” Loki lied smoothly, his voice contemptuous.

          “Seeing as how you have no weaponry at your disposal and you were elsewhere in the palace, I find it hard to believe that you caused the death of a Frost Giant from within the library,” Odin observed.

          My husband merely shrugged, tightening his hold on Hel. Compared to the current crisis, the fact that Odin was spying on Loki’s whereabouts was a non-issue. The fact a Jötunn had broken through the defences Odin and his war council had been so thoroughly strengthening was alarming. It spoke of a weakness that if exploited could put the entire realm in jeopardy. And if Asgard fell, the other eight realms were not far behind.

          Infuriated by Loki’s lack of co-operation, Odin rounded on me. “Lady Sigyn? Perhaps you can explain what transpired?”

          “Certainly, my king, you cannot expect that I would have deigned to take on a fully grown Jötunn? Even were I skilled enough in hand-to-hand combat with a giant, I have no weapons by which to commit such an offense.”

          The All-father glared at us, his eye staring down Loki and I in turn before resting his steely gaze on Hel.

          “Girl! What do you have to say, Goddess of the Underworld?”

          I stiffened, anxious. Terrified, the child began quaking even harder, her small hands grasping the leather tails of her fathers’ coat. Loki’s hand on her back pressed harder, holding her tight against him.

          “You dare accost the Queen of Nifilheim? She who by right commands the legions of inglorious dead?” Loki accused. Never had I heard such menace in his voice, even the times he was condemning me of disgrace.

          “AS YOUR KING I DEMAND AN ANSWER!” he bellowed, disregarding Loki completely. Even the Red Hawks, his personal guard and trained to be the most fearless of all the einherjar, shrank back from his fury.

          “Your answer was given. I eliminated the threat to my family and to Asgard,” Loki reiterated, his tone murderous. 

          “Arrest him,” Odin ordered, showing no emotion.

          “No! Father!” Hel shrieked, frantically reaching for Loki as as they were wrenched apart, Odin’s guards binding the hands and ankles of his adoptive son in shackles, and circling an uru chain around his hips. “Please, no!” Eyes wide with fear, she rounded on Odin, tears streaming down her cheeks. “It was me! I killed Angrboða.”

          “Hel, no!” I cried, rushing to her and dropping to my knees, pulling her into my arms.

          “I should never have allowed that child to remain in this realm. She is too dangerous to be amongst the living! Guards! Summon Lord Týr and have him and a contingent of his soldiers escort the Lady Hel to Nifilheim to assume her place in the realm of the inglorious dead.”

          “NO!” I cried, squeezing her tighter. “I will not allow you to remove my daughter from my care!”

          “Her mother lies dead on the floor, slain by her daughters’ own hand. THE GIRL IS NOT YOUR DAUGHTER!”

          “The Goddess of Fidelity seeks only to remain faithful to those who rely upon her,” I countered. “Blood of my blood or not, I shall defend the innocent…”

          “You are a goddess only by my good graces, _Midgardian._ If you seek to interfere with my judgements again, I will banish you back from whence you came!” Odin promised.

          “My king,” Týr saluted, bumping his fist against his heart and taking a knee. “You summoned me?”

          “Escort the girl to her realm in Nifilheim and see that she remains there,” he commanded, pointing at Hel. “A contingent shall remain behind to ensure she does not attempt to flee.”

          “And the prisoner, Majesty?” Týr asked, glancing at Loki

          Odin did not even bother to look at Loki as he turned away. He left only parting words in his wake as he walked from the room, using Gungnir for support. “Bring him before my throne. I will pass judgement on him for his manifold crimes.”

          _“Loki!”_ I cried, forcing my thoughts of terror into his mind.

          The einherjar holding the chains that bound my husband yanked on them, catching him off-guard. Loki stumbled slightly before catching his footing, his face smooth and emotionless. I recognized that look. On the surface, he might adopt a cool veneer of complete apathy but just beneath he was searing with rage. Hurt. Vengeance. His mind was already whirring, formulating plots and assessing what qualities to exploit in himself and others to carry off a plan of escape. Behind the cold look in his eyes, Loki was already manipulating everyone in the room.

          _“Do nothing, Sigyn. I will think of a remedy to this situation,”_ Loki urged, his thoughts broadcasting loudly even as he was dragged from the room. Still huddled on the floor with Hel, I fought back tears as he raised his chin, seemingly ignoring the tableau we presented. I understood his motivation; the less feeling he showed, especially toward his daughter the murderer and the wife who lied to the King, the less it could be used against him. But just because I understood it didn’t mean that I liked it. I wanted him to struggle, to break free long enough to kiss me one last time. To physically whisper his reassurance in my ear.

          _“What of the child?”_

_“Go to my mother in the morning. She will help in any way she can. Remember when I said I could sense change coming? That time is now.”_

I had no more words. I was openly weeping, tears streaming down and dripping off my chin. Only my thoughts transmitted between our minds, a tangled mess of love and loathing.

          _“Be patient, beloved,”_ Loki urged. _“You are the only thing in the Nine Worlds I truly love. Never forget that I love you.”_

          With that, I sensed the connection close, severing my contact with Loki. Wailing, I clawed at the saffron-caped infantryman who pried Hel from my grasp, wrapping his arm around her waist and hoisting her struggling figure. In seconds I had lost my husband and my daughter. Her screams as she was carted from the room, vainly reaching toward me for salvation, emotionally broke me.

          Alone, I balled my fists so tightly my arms shook. “You will pay for this, All-Father. If I have to travel to Muspelheim you will pay for what has been done this day.” Then I screamed. I screamed until my throat was so raw I could taste blood, hoping all of Asgard could hear my anguish. 

          Then I continued screaming until I passed out.

 

End Part One


	13. Chapter 13

I walked to the samovar and switched it on, carefully measuring out the desired amount of tea into my teacup. The landscape outside my window was dark, illuminated only by the light of the moon. Sixteen thousand acres of Russian forests surrounded the Tsvetkov Palace, thirty miles south-west of Saint Petersburg. From my window, the pale bark of the silver birch starkly contrasted with the blackness of the woods that bordered the driveway of pulverized shells brought in from the shores of the Gulf of Finland. Only two acres of manicured lawn were between the main building and the mystery of that forest. Wolves, spirits… nightmares.

          Nightmares like the one I had just awoken from. Stories from myths, vividly playing out in my sleep. Gods and goddesses, monsters, heroes and villains. This time I had awoken screaming for a little girl who was forcibly taken from my arms by a soldier in gleaming gold armour, terror written across her sylphlike features. There was a man in chains, his wrists, ankles, and neck bound by long metal links with long strands held by a group in armour similar to the man who took the little girl. Last night, I saw a gleaming city of gold, structures that could not have been erected by the hands of man. The night sky was something straight out of an astronomy textbook with swirls of burgundy, azure, and violet with stars far brighter than any seen from Earth. Night before that, I was on a sofa of gold-flecked emerald velvet, my head resting in the lap of the man who wore the chains in my latest dream, listening as he read aloud. Try as I might, I could neither recall his face nor do I remember what he was reading. His voice was low and rich, with a gravelly undertone that could by turns be erotic or chill to the bone; it seemed that as that voice lulled me to sleep in the dream, the vision slowly slipped away as I regained consciousness. Such dreams, connected as they were, had to be more than coincidence? The harder I tried to remember these dreams, the less I recalled. It was almost as if they were memories I couldn’t access, reminiscences from a past life.

          “Если бы я только мог вспомнить эту жизнь,” I murmured, rubbing my stomach. Two months ago I had awoken from a coma with total amnesia. Nothing about who I was or where I was from survived the brain injury that precipitated the memory loss. Ivan, my husband, had been there when I came to but he disappeared soon after to attend to ‘business’, leaving me alone, pregnant, and frightened. He couldn’t even give me a good idea of how far along my pregnancy was. “I doubt he was even there for the conception,” I snapped at my reflection in the window. After he had departed, a hospital midwife determined I was then approximately five and a half months along. 

          Finished with my tea, I tried to go back to sleep but the baby had awoken and was so animated I knew that it was futile. Instead I sat at the desk in the library, switching on a small lamp. Even if these dreams were just that- dreams- they were fascinating. Perhaps something even I could turn into some story. A fantasy. Something to keep my mind occupied. Despite not remembering personal memories, facts and trivia remained and one bit that survived the amnesia was that pregnancy induced strange dreams. Perhaps these were nothing more than my mind creating new material in the absence of original remembrances.

          So I wrote. Every little detail that remained. Green eyes and hair black and sleek as the feathers of a raven. The ancient carving on the stone fireplace mantle that dominated the room in which that man and I reclined on a couch. I drew out the tapestry I was embroidering in another dream, complete with colour. I had nearly filled the notebook with these hastily written recollections. Some were happy, others tinged with fear and anger, but there seemed to be an underlying current of urgency to them, as everyone was hurdling toward a disaster they were helpless to stop. Certainly dreaming about the little girl and the man being forcibly taken away just minutes before seemed to confirm that theory. It sounded silly, even without verbally expressing it. These were dreams. These people were just figments of my imagination.

          Checking to make sure the ink was dry, I closed the notebook and looked around the room. Christmas was nigh upon me and there were fragrant pine garlands and a prized set of matroshuyka dolls on the mantle, battery operated candles in the windows, and a poinsettia in the middle of a small table. Festive decorations surrounded me but I was joyless. Without my memories and no family to create new ones with, there was no reason for me to be excited about the holiday. “It’s just you and I, kid,” I said, switching off the light and heading back to bed.

 

 

          “Nastasya!”

          Two weeks after New Years, Ivan finally returned home bearing no explanations for where he had been and why he was gone for so long. Asking was pointless; when he had returned from his first trip following my awakening, he merely shrugged and said he had business with his father to attend to. Oligarchs and their secret, hedonistic clubs no doubt.

          Since waking, I had found no reason to trust Ivan. I had a deep suspicion that he was keeping very important details from me. The story that I suffered a fainting spell and fell down the elegant wooden staircase, hitting my head as I tumbled down, was unsatisfactory. There were too many questions left unanswered: why had I passed out? Was it a result of pregnancy? Pre-eclampsia? Low blood sugar from gestational diabetes? Plain and simple hunger? If he was withholding information out of love as people often tended to claim, he had an awfully funny way of displaying that affection. Things might have been different before I fell, but I suspected otherwise. He was distant emotionally as well as physically but when he was around, I felt intimidated. There was a pent up aggression, like the strings of an over-tuned godok, just waiting to snap. I felt like I was a possession, some symbol of his status.

          “Nastasya?” he called again, this time just outside my study. I was once again writing down my recollections of my dreams and I didn’t want to be interrupted lest I forget anything. But when he opened the door and came in, I had no choice but to acknowledge his presence.

          “Don’t you have some words of welcome for your husband?” he asked, smiling at me. He wasn’t  _unattractive_  but I wasn’t attracted to him. He had brown eyes that slanted slightly downward and facial hair of a nondescript shade of brown, same as the hair on his head. No more than 5’10, he was compact and muscular. A soldier, he had said once. His father had demanded he serve in the army for at least five years in order to claim his staggering inheritance.  _That_  was one thing I did believe.

          “Добро пожаловать домой, муж. Как поездка?”  _Dobro pozhalovat’ domoy , muzh . Kak poyezdka?_  I asked, rising from my desk, stopping to ascertain my balance before walking toward him. I could tell that he was expecting me to embrace him, to greet him with a kiss, but I did not want to. I still found it difficult to imagine that I had ever let him close enough to impregnate me. Even offering him my hands made me squirm inwardly.

          “Uneventful. I’d much rather have been here with you,” he said, tugging on my hands to pull me closer.

          “Christmas was quiet, spending it alone,” I replied, pointedly reminding him that he missed the second most important holiday in the Orthodox calendar and my favorite overall. “You have a gift on your nightstand. I hope you enjoy it.” I failed to mention I got myself a gift as well, but the fact I had purchased an antique dagger with an enameled handle by Faberge was need to know information.

          “You’ll have to forgive my oversight. I failed to get you a present. I shall make it up to you next time I leave on business.” Was that remorse I saw flash across his face? Nevermind. He had no right to state I owed him forgiveness. Not if he did not trust me to know where he went and what he did that was more important than spending the holidays with his expectant wife.

          “Nevermind, Ivan. You had important matters which needed attending,” I replied, masking my sarcasm. I was less surprised at his negligence than the absence of annoyance. Somehow I expected him to be so wrapped up in whatever it was he was doing to overlook even a trinket for his child.

          Closing the journal and capping the inkwell, I pulled the chain on my desk lamp, throwing the room into darkness. “You can do one thing for me,” I requested.

          “Anything you wish, darling.”

          I winced at the appellation, grateful for the darkness. “You can assist me up the stairs.”

          “It would be my pleasure.” I steeled myself not to edge away when I sensed him at my elbow.

          He attempted to overstay his welcome in my room but I made it known I was going straight to bed. I was as much exhausted as curious what dreams were in store for me that night. The only drawback was the sooner I went to bed, the sooner I would have to resume life with Ivan.

          Situating myself in the dining room the next morning, I noticed that he was wearing the enamel and gold cufflinks I had left on his nightstand. I would never have admitted it, but I was slightly touched. Still, it would not cause me to trust him. One small gesture was not enough to override the deep sense of distrust I had toward him.

          Three days later, I awoke to see a large velvet box on the long bureau opposite my bed, a folded piece of paper placed on top. Confused, I toddled across the room and picked up the note, reading the words written on the expensive vellum stationary. “Счастливого Рождества, Настя. I am exceedingly sorry for the delay but I hope that it does not affect your acceptance of this gift. With affection, Ivan.”

          I shook my head, incredulous. I refused to allow the seed of hope that perhaps he offered this as a show of true affection grow. Stubbornly I held onto the notion that he had been shamed by my bluntly reminding him I had spent Christmas alone. Ivan’s treatment of me since I had awoken from the coma might border on negligent but he wasn’t an idiot. He could take a hint so long as it wasn’t too subtle.

          Laying the note aside, I unclasped the latch and lifted the lid, gasping at what lay inside. On a cushion of rose coloured velvet was a  _kokoshnik_  of gold, large oval cameos depicting scenes from antiquity set into the metal. Apollo and his chariot were in the largest cameo, located in the middle; others showed Dionysus with his grapes, Demeter walking the earth, and a group of putti with a sickle and scythe. That could be potentially problematic, I reflected. Overall, it was a stunning piece of workmanship. There was intricate gold work in the spaces between cameos, small round rubies, emeralds, and turquoise adding colour and sparkle.

          My hands were steady as I lifted it and crowned myself with it. The diadem fit perfectly, as if it had been designed especially for me despite the fact that this exquisite piece of jewelry had to pre-date the Revolution. This was something that would have made quite a statement in the ballrooms of Tsarist Russia. Perhaps it had once even graced the head of a Grand Duchess. But now it was mine.

          I felt my whole body react when I raised my eyes to the mirror on the wall. There was something familiar about the reflection that stared back at me. Although my life before my amnesia was a total blank, there was a memory- an incredibly strong memory- associated with this. I had looked into my own eyes hundreds of times in the past few months, adjusted hats before venturing to St. Petersburg for a gallivant along Nevsky Prospekt, arranged my hair over my shoulders, but the kokoshnik instigated a visceral reaction in my very soul.  _Had I been a Grand Duchess in a past life?_

          Feeling one of my headaches associated with forcing myself to access memories that weren’t there begin in my temples, I removed the headpiece and placed it back on the cushion, snapping the lid closed. Dizzy from the sudden onslaught, I stumbled toward the bed again, bending down with my hands flat on the mattress, bracing myself so I wouldn’t topple over.

          Still lightheaded, I pulled the cord beside my bed that rang the bell in the housekeeper’s pantry. I needed to express my gratitude to Ivan while my heart was still malleable enough. Yes the gift was late and it seemed more of an apology than an actual Christmas present but it was nonetheless perfect. Perhaps he knew more about me than I previously thought.

          “Madame?” Mrs. Sapozhnikova asked, carrying in my breakfast tray. The aroma of rye toast and kasha was revolting; why did she insist on this rubbish for my morning meal? She claimed the hearty porridge was to fortify me during my pregnancy but I’d much prefer buterbrod or sirniki, something with flavour. But I wasn’t about to argue with the formidable looking woman. I knew she meant well regardless of my wishes.

          “Could you locate my husband? I need to speak with him.”

          I noticed that she wouldn’t meet my eyes as she situated the tray over my lap and tucked the comforter around me. Before she even opened her mouth I knew: he was gone again. So the kokoshnik was a goodbye as well. Go out with a grand gesture. Unfortunately for him, the slight thawing that had begun the past few days was gone. I felt my heart turn cold again, an icy lump in my chest that seemed to be frozen in a time I could not remember.

          In the here and now, time was up for Ivan.

 

        

          That day, I remained in bed, zapped of my strength. Unlike every night before, my sleep was dreamless. I awoke the next morning feeling empty. Those dreams had become the closest thing I had to a friend in my life and I had been let down. The characters, the setting, even the feelings had become as familiar to me as my own. Honestly I felt more at home in that mythical world of gold and stone than I did in this brick and mortar monstrosity of neo-Rococo design. After the strange feeling of abstract nostalgia the day before, I had hoped to visit that place again, seeking answers. Or at least an escape from my bitterness. But just like so much else, even my own unconscious imaginings let me down.

          Mrs. Sapozhnikova summoned my midwife when, after three days, I still refused to leave my bed. Perhaps she should have called a psychiatrist instead; I was perfectly healthy- according to the midwife, the healthiest expectant mother she had ever seen- but had fallen into a viscous cycle. Whenever I would fall asleep, I would look forward to my dreams again. Not having any, I would lie in bed and rack my brain, trying to access anything helpful. Maybe snippets of a memory or bits of a dream that I had forgotten. I would focus so hard that I would give myself migraines, forcing me to sleep them off, falling back into the black, dreamless oblivion.

          Some days later, I can’t be sure how many had passed anymore, I literally passed out from the searing pain in my head. Any pharmaceuticals that could have alleviated the agony were locked in the pantry, in a cabinet to which Mrs. Sapozhnikova had the only key. In my condition, she refused to allow me anything to lessen my suffering.

          Finally I had another dream, this one subtly different than the rest. Whereas the others seemed to be memories, this one was more of a vision, as if I was a fly on the wall observing the action as it happened. The regal woman with waist length red hair, Queen of the realm in my dreams, was staring down a creature with large pointed ears and hair as white as the Siberian snow. She gripped a dagger with a long silver blade in one hand, her demeanour defiant. A second woman, this one a petite brunette in a bronze gown, seemed skittish, skirting around an octagonal pool, her fearful eyes flitting back to the queen.

          The creature with the white hair spoke, demanding the location of something that was taken from him. Momentarily letting her guard down, the older woman glanced at the younger, her attention slipping for the briefest of moments. It was a fatal mistake: the creature lunged at her. The Queen was prepared, impressively defending herself against the threat, slicing a gash in his cheek.

          So lucid was this dream that when a monster with the most horrible visage entered the room, I tried to caution her. Alas, my words were no more than vapours, never materialising into a warning. Lifted off the floor by the monster, his arm around her neck, the second creature approached, his face inches from hers. “Where is the Aether?”

          She smirked, the look of a woman who had a secret she would never divulge. “I’ll never tell.”

          As a sword was plunged into her side, the monster dropping her to the floor, I found my voice again. I awoke screaming at the top of my lungs, the pain of my migraine forgotten.

           Theoric, son of Ulik, and Odin, son of Bor had Hel to pay.

           I remembered  _everything_. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a departure from the first person POV in which the rest of the story is written. For future events to make sense, it is important to know what happened immediately following the events of chapter twelve. Enjoy!

Odin trudged heavily into the room, head hung wearily. It had been a dark day in Asgard even if only a handful knew the dreadful events that transpired. Despite all the planning, all the strategic defensive measures, the security of the realm had been breached and it was all Loki’s fault. Whatever dark magic he had used to first let slip the Jötuns into Asgard two and a half years hence had been exploited again, this time to the mother of those monsters Loki called his children. He had tried to be lenient with the boy, allowing him to keep the mortal woman he brought home from Midgard. Though the All-Father was discerning enough to know Loki was using her as leverage in exchange for his life and freedom, there had been a subtle change in his temperament since the wedding. Until that afternoon, he held out hope that the man was finally growing into his responsibility.

            Sigyn, he was sure, had nothing to do with the arrival and death of Angrboða in her chambers. All she had done was lie to protect her step-daughter and to prevent her husband’s return to incarceration. “I seek to remain faithful to those who depend on me,” she had asserted. Indeed the woman lived up to her designation. Under different circumstances, Odin would allow her to continue to live in the station into which she had married: in the palace as a Princess of Asgard. With the death goddess banished to her realm in Niffleheim and Loki in chains, awaiting judgment, there was no longer anything in Asgard for the woman. A humane solution needed to be reached and quickly; for the first hour after the commotion, she had shrieked like a banshee, her wails echoing through the halls in the residential wing of the palace. Exhausted, she had passed out on the cold stone floor, watched over by two Einherjar. Whatever he did, the King of Asgard needed to do it while she slept.

            “Frigga,” he called, feeling relief spread through his tired limbs when she turned from the reflection in her vanity mirror to look at her husband. For several thousand years he had relied on this woman of quiet strength and wisdom. Today was no different. He needed her empathy and her talent for the nuances of the magical arts. He could fire spells from Gungnir, decimating whole legions of warriors, but magic of the mind was far more subtle than the aggressive seiðr he used. Only his Queen could whisper the words that would execute his final mercy to the wife of his wayward son.

            “Odin, whatever happened?” she asked, placing her hands on her spouses’ shoulders. She needed no magic to convey her concern through her fingertips.

            “Later, my Queen. Time is of the essence. For the sake of the son we once had, you must go to his rooms and relieve the Lady Sigyn of any memory of this place. Ensure she never recalls her time in Asgard. When you are done, see to it that Theoric carries out the duty to which I have assigned him. I will deal with Loki.”

            “I don’t understand? What have they done?” Frigga pressed, her blue eyes searching his for comprehension. She never gave up hope on her son, not even when he was light years away, making deals with the Chitauri and invading the mortal realm at the head of a terrifying alien army. Now that he was home and had something worth living for, her hope was never stronger or more fruitful. The woman whom he had married seemed to bring something out in Loki that had been lost when he first grasped Gungnir in his hands. He could smile without menace. His laughter was no longer hollow and joyless. And his eyes sparked whenever he hugged his daughter, his little Hela, in the same way that even Odin’s did whilst the Princes of Asgard were still children.

            “As long as Loki is free, the realm is at risk. Whether it is from himself or others taking advantage of vulnerabilities he has already exploited, he is a rallying point for those who wish to harm Asgard. What of these Chitauri he was consorting with? How do we know they will not invade Asgard in retaliation for the failed attempt on the mortals? And all because Loki sought a throne from which to rule.”

            “But to punish his bride?”

            “It is the one mercy I can show to them,” Odin stated, turning his gaze to the floor. “Loki will be banished to the prisons for the rest of eternity and his daughter is being escorted to her place in Niffleheim. What is there for her here? She is of Midgard; let her return to whence she came with no memory of this aberration in her life. She will become a non-person.”

            “What will you tell Loki? He will want to know the fate of his wife.”

            Odin sighed, heavily sinking to a seat on the edge of their massive gold bed. He doubted the question of what happened to his wife would be raised. The boy didn’t love her. He  _used_  her. She was a convenient patsy, beneficial to saving his own ungrateful hide. Despite the theatrics following the Jotunn’s invasion, she had failed in her only task. Loki, in his fury, would not give a damn what happened to the mortal. “If it even comes up, she is under arrest, confined to her rooms.”  

            Steeling herself, Frigga nodded. She did not know all the circumstances yet of Odin’s request but as her king and husband, the father of her children, she trusted him and his judgment. It did, she concurred, make sense. The Lady Sigyn had been in Asgard less than two years; she had borne no children to Loki and since she had never been physically abused by her spouse, there was no way for her marriage to be voided. She would never have the opportunity to wed a man in possession of his freedom and the All-Father would certainly revoke the visitation rights she had been accorded during their engagement. It was no life for one as young and vivacious as the Goddess of Fidelity.

            Leaning in, the Queen of Asgard placed a light kiss on her husbands’ forehead. Unbeknownst to all the rest of the Nine Worlds, the condemnation he was about to hand down to his youngest son weighed greatly on his already heavy heart. The King was weak and exhausted from the Marauders’ Uprising, the endless war and defense councils, and keeping surveillance on Loki. Though she knew Odin had placed her in an unenviable position, she would do all she could to begin healing the hurt and heartbreak this family had endured the past few years. There was one thing she could do for the couple rent asunder that not even her husband could stop her from doing.

            “Let me pass,” Frigga instructed the guards outside the doors of Loki and Sigyn’s chambers. Their pikes were crossed, barring entrance, and their expressions almost murderously impassive. They had been ordered to do their duty to protect the realm and they would uphold their word with their lives if need be.

            “We have orders, my Queen,” the one on the left stated. “None save the All-Father shall pass.”

            “I come at the behest of the All-Father himself to tend to the prisoner,” she explained, the word ‘prisoner’ bitter on her tongue. The woman inside was a helpless captive to fate, a pawn in the schemes of men.

            “My Queen, we cannot…”

            “Do my commands carry no weight? The All-Father is otherwise occupied and has requested that I enforce this edict. Allow me to enter these rooms.” The threat of what would happen if they did not obey hung unsaid but nonetheless understood. The sentries exchanged a look and moved their weapons, stepping aside.

            Sprawled on the cold stone floor, red hair spread around her head like a halo, her daughter-in-law slept peacefully, the steady rise and fall of her chest assuring Frigga she was still alive. The sleep was enchanted; the magical force of the spell radiated from her slack figure. It was startling to see a woman who had such a charismatic presence in the palace looking so helpless and broken. So alone.

            “Let this be no more than a dream to you. A dim recollection in your slumber,” she whispered, kneeling down and laying her hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You shall have no memories more tangible than a dream, my child. Asgard and all us who live here will be creations of your imagination, figures from a book of mythology rendered into life. Fortune go with you, dear Sigyn.” Leaning forward, she whispered one last phrase into Sigyn’s ear, her promise of a way out should the lady be brave enough to take it.

            Wiping a lone tear from her eye, Frigga walked back out of the room. “Theoric,” she addressed the guard at the door. “The All-Father informed me you have a directive. See to it that you carry out your duty with all due haste.”

            He pressed a fist to his chest and took a knee, saluting the Queen of Asgard. He indeed had orders to take the wife of Laufeyson to Midgard and see to it she was established in a similar station among the mortals. There was a deposit of Rhinegold in Russia he had been entrusted with. The lady would be a woman of wealth in her new life and even, if he could manage, happiness. Long had he desired the princess but she was off-limits. Even she spurned his flirtation but all that would change. She would be near-immortal and in need of someone with whom she could reinvent herself every thirty years or so. He would take it upon himself to care for this beautiful creature.

            He suppressed his self-satisfaction as the Queen walked away. This day, all had lost something save Theoric. Of anyone in the realm, he the thing he desired most had fallen neatly into his hands and he would do whatever in his power to keep her.

 

 

            Chains clanked as the black-clad prisoner was led down the great aisle in the Throne Hall. The manacle around his neck was heavy and chafed but he would not give them the satisfaction of knowing it irritated him. There were a great many things that infuriated him more, chief of which was the forcible removal of his daughter. Loki knew he was in no way a good parent but that did not mean he did not care deeply for his progeny. Then there were those who deigned to lay hands on his wife. None were permitted to touch Laufeyson’s person and they certainly were verboten from touching his wife. When he broke free of these bindings, they would be among the first to go.

            “Loki,” his mother called, her voice soft. She had hurried here from her errand, still unknowing of exactly what the final nail in Loki’s coffin was.

            “Hello, Mother,” he greeted with a smirk. “Have I made you proud?”

            “Please, don’t make this worse.” How was she to address what he had done if she was yet ignorant of his latest transgression? The best advice Frigga could offer were words she knew her son would disregard. There was nothing more she could do to help him; there was little she could do in the first place. Even if Loki wasn’t beyond her assistance, he would spurn it nonetheless.

            “Define worse,” he taunted, his face smug. Beneath the sneer, however, was the bald truth. He was under arrest, his daughter banished, and Volla only knew about Sigyn. Conceivably, how could this situation get any worse?  

            “I would speak to the prisoner alone,” commanded Odin, his voice drawing their attention to the throne. Knowing her husband to be of a mood, the Queen turned on her heel and swiftly left the room. Loki had to face what he had done. Alone.

Loki took several steps closer to the steps leading to Odin’s throne, swinging his leg out and loudly clinking the shackles on his ankles together, the sound echoing through the hall. For one brief moment it seemed the trickster would greet this meeting with all due gravitas but then he doubled over, laughing. “I really don’t see what all the fuss is about,” he joked, splaying his manacled hands in a gesture of ignorance. His bitter sarcasm masked his true pain. Nobody could ever know his agony, the guilt that was slowly consuming his soul. Emotions could be manipulated; being an expert at doing so, Loki knew this better than anyone. As long as he kept the mask up, Odin couldn’t turn those feelings against him. Feelings can’t be manipulated if they aren’t really there.

            “Do you truly not feel the gravity of your crimes?” Odin posed, his stern gaze evaluating the errant son that stood before him. The self-satisfied smile Loki’s face was so reminiscent of when he would be caught causing trouble as a child that it angered him. Infuriated him that Loki, to whom he had raised since infancy and taught, trained, and even loved, would abuse the power and station which he inherited and turn so violently. Enraged that despite wanting to hate the boy, he simply could not. Regardless of what transgressions he might commit, Loki was his son. “Everywhere you go there is war, ruin,” he paused briefly, forcing himself not to react to Loki’s mocking grin. “And death.”

            “I went down to Midgard to rule the people of Earth as a benevolent god,” Loki justified, the smile vanishing. “Just like you.” He refused to acknowledge the last year and a half. If he was to be punished, it would be for the Chitauri debacle. He might be bound with enchanted chains, but Odin could not conceivably censure him for the instinctual act of protecting his family. The God of Mischief might be a lot of unsavory things but protective of what was his was not one. It was  _his_ family that was threatened by the Jotun. The King of Asgard would have reacted no differently to protect Frigga.

            “We are not gods. We are born, we live, we die… just as humans do,” Odin reminded him.

            “Give or take five thousand years,” Loki sassed, the shit-eating smirk returning.  _The next four of which I will spend alone if Odin has his way. Only seeing my wife and child from the inside of a cell in the dungeons…_

            “All this because Loki desires a throne,” Odin derided, patience wearing thin. He was trying to be civil. Loki did not even deserve this audience and his father was beginning to regret not having just tossed him straight into the dungeons.

            “It is my birthright,” Loki hissed, timbre dropping in anger. Born of a king, raised by another. Told from childhood that he and Thor were both born to be kings. He had more right to kingship than the brother Asgard hero-worshipped but was denied due to his status as second son. But where was Thor when Asgard needed him? Banished to Midgard for his brashness and arrogance. It was Loki who ruled while Odin slept and the Thunderer consorted with mortals. Loki who eliminated the King of the Jotuns. And for his service to Asgard he now wore chains.

            “You’re birthright was to die!” Odin thundered, patience finally snapping. “As a child, cast out on a frozen rock. If I had not taken you in, you would not be here now to hate me.  

            “If I am for the axe, then for mercy’s sake just swing it,” Loki pleaded, stepping forward as he called Odin’s bluff. Odin was, as Thor had once bluntly accused, an old man and a fool. He might have been a great warrior in his prime and he still might be the most powerful person this side of Niffilheim, but he was weak. He didn’t have the guts to execute the man he called ‘son’ and Loki knew it. “It’s not that I don’t love our little talks it’s just that I… don’t.”

            Odin did not take the bait. He knew Loki too well. To be forgotten in a cell deep under the bedrock of Asgard was a fate worse than death for the Trickster. To strip him of his autonomy and the few things in his long life that he loved. “Frigga is the only reason you are still alive and you will never see her again. You will spend the rest of your days in the dungeons.”

            Stoic and irreverent as he had been to this point, Loki could not curtail the physical reaction to Odin’s sentence. He balled his fists and gasped for air as the wind was knocked out of him. Fighting tears, he blinked rapidly, feeling the sting of the cold moisture along his lash line. It was as if all Nine Realms had fallen around him. Denied his mother… what of his wife? Why did Odin not mention Sigyn?  _What had he done to Sigyn? To their child?_   Her lack of mention was more terrifying to Loki than knowing where she was and how she was faring. Had her pregnancy been discovered? Was she to be shown clemency? Had she been imprisoned as well? She was Loki’s last remaining hope in Asgard. He had counted on her ambition, her cunning, and her ill-advised love for him to extricate her husband from this predicament. But that burning hope was barely a flicker. If he was denied his mother, the one Odin loved above all else, then he would have no qualms about keeping Sigyn far away. “And what of Thor?” he countered, seeking to wound the man he once in awe called ‘Father’. “Are you to make that witless oaf king as I rot in chains?”

            “Thor must strive to undo the damage you have done and restore order to the Nine Realms” Odin answered as a guard grabbed Loki by the shoulder, marring the armour engraved with Fenrir’s countenance with his fingerprints. Inside, Loki seethed at the disrespect shown to him. How dare this mere soldier lay a hand upon the God of Mischief? “Then yes, he will be king.”

            With a nod from their king, the Einherjar tugged sharply on the chains, leading Loki from the room. He gave them no resistance. For once, Loki had no fight in him. He was too busy inside his own head, his attempts to call out to Sigyn an exercise in futility. No matter how hard he struggled to break the barrier between his mind and hers, it was in vain.

            Roughly pushed into a stark, blindingly white cell, Loki felt the desperate broadcast truncate as the energy barrier was activated, cutting off all use of his magic. Was Sigyn held in a similar situation, her fledgling magical abilities inhibited? Had she ignored his attempted invasion of her mind? Or was there a more sinister answer?

            Throughout his life, Loki was well-known for his preference for peace and quiet. But now, the happy noise he had surround himself with suddenly mute, the silence was deafening.

            And that terrified him more than any punishment Odin could mete out.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another POV shift. Originally a canon one shot, I decided this needed to be included as a chapter because Thor reveals some important information relevant going forward. Please enjoy!

Jane walked aimlessly through the palace, her shadow slipping quietly through the dark, brazier-lit corridors as she wandered from room to room. When she returned from the funeral earlier that night, she could not find solace in sleep; guilt eating at her conscience, every time she closed her eyes the scene played out again, always the same. Frigga, lying dead on the floor of her rooms, slain by Kurse and Malekith while protecting her, the vessel of the Aether. She felt all the more guilty because Thor didn’t hate her. She wanted him to but the pragmatic warrior in him knew that the Queen of Asgard had done her duty to the last and that it was through no fault of Jane’s that his mother had lost that battle. She had sought his forgiveness, but for the prince, there was nothing to forgive the woman he loved.

Hopelessly lost in the maze of hallways, she came upon one that was totally black, extending into nothingness. One lone guard was standing sentinel in front of a column at the entrance of the corridor but he made no move to stop her from treading into the darkness. Using her fingers to feel along the wall until her eyes adjusted to the pitch black, she came upon a door, the metal cool to the touch. Finding the handle, she pushed it open and walked inside, glancing about. It was an octagonal antechamber similar to the room in which Frigga had died, a fountain in the centre and several stone stairs leading to an open balcony. Purple light from the Asgardian night sky illuminated the room somewhat, reflecting off a gilded mirror that hung above a table bearing a vase with a dozen, brown, desiccated roses, fallen petals on the marble surface. By the stillness in the air and the abandoned feeling, it was obvious that these rooms had been lived in and the lack of dust indicated that it was so until recently.

Intrigued, Jane peeked into a room off the vestibule; it was just a small sitting room with two Roman-style reclining couches and a large fern in front of the window grating. Another curtained arch led to a cupboard but the shelves were empty of wares. Opposite was another set of double doors identical to the ones Jane entered through. She surmised that they must lead to the more personal rooms in this suite. Unable to stifle her curiosity, she passed through them, finding another short hall. There were smaller, wooden doors off to the left and right which she would come back to, but she was irresistibly drawn to the doors at the end of the hallway.

The room was large but the dominating feature was the huge four poster bed with rich, emerald velvet curtains against the wall opposite where she stood holding the doors open. Some article of clothing, indistinguishable in the darkness, was tossed across the bottom of the bed, overlooked when the former resident left. Did this room belong to someone who was lost in the attack? Creeping further inside, Jane turned to her right and saw a long sofa in front of a huge fireplace. A golden goblet sat forgotten on the mantle next to another vase of dead flowers. Bookcases filled with books flanked the fireplace, extending from the floor to the ceiling. The spines of the leather books were in an assortment of languages from runic to English, French, and Russian. Jane felt a kindred spirit with the owner of these tomes; whoever these rooms belonged to was a person of knowledge and obviously familiar with the tongue which she spoke. She pulled down a copy of Machiavelli’s “The Prince” and turned the pages, speechless at the handwritten calligraphy, the illuminated manuscript. This book must have been centuries old and here she found it on a shelf in some god or goddesses’ bedroom. On Earth such a treasure would be in a museum or at best a library with restricted access.

Sliding the book back onto the shelf, she drifted to a door on the right of the shelf. An exotic array of perfumes greeted Jane as she entered, her attention caught by the large tree sprawling across the doors that ran along the entire length of the far wall. “Must be Yggdrasil,” she mused. On her left was a vanity with several bottles of perfume and jars of cosmetics on the marble surface, topped by a gold-framed mirror depicting a snake with its own tail gripped in its jaws. Curious if this room held any clues to the owner, she pulled open on of the wooden doors and gasped at the array of beautiful gowns hanging within. Reaching out, her fingertips encountered flowing chiffon and heavy silks, satins, brocades, and velvets; some were encrusted with beads or embroidered, others were just of simple, finely-woven linen or wool. It gave no indication of who the gowns belonged to but whoever she was, she was a woman of importance.

Closing that door, she opened a wooden cupboard behind her. Glinting slightly in the bit of moonlight that came in through the open door was a set of ceremonial armour similar to the breast plate that Jane had been given to wear here in Asgard but shinier and more intricate. Curious, she ran the tips of her fingers over the cold armour. It appeared to be made up of dozens of overlapping leaves, curving just perfectly over the breasts and the shoulders then dipping down in a graceful curve at the bottom. On a shelf above the beautiful armour was a helmet that was as ridiculous as the rest of the headgear on Asgard: a rounded brow and a pair of wings that extended from the sides, with feathers etched into the metal. It seemed only to reaffirm that this was the wardrobe of a woman high in the court. A mere commoner would not have such finery, even in the realm of the gods.

Jane’s breath hitched when she noticed the second helm, stored on a shelf just above the bird-like one. Two horns extended forward and swung up to a point some ten to twelve inches above the crown. Once before she had seen this headgear: on Loki as he terrorized New York. Somehow, the imprisoned god of Mischief had a connection to this room. Realizing the trouble she could be in if caught, she used the wrist of her nightgown to rub away any fingerprints she might have left on the armour and closed the door of the cabinet. Spinning on her heel, she quickly headed for the door but slammed headlong into Thor.

“Jane! What are you doing about the palace at this hour?” he asked, taking her hand.

“I… I couldn’t sleep,” she muttered. “How did you find me?”

“It is the duty of the guards to observe all in these halls. It was not difficult. You should be in your chamber, Jane. It is not safe to meander the palace alone.”

She followed Thor from the room, heart beating quickly. “Who did these rooms belong to?” she asked. “I saw your brothers’ helmet on a shelf in that room.”

His response was pained, saddened over the fate that befell the occupants. “These are- were- the rooms of Loki and his wife, Sigyn.”

“Wife? Loki was married?”

Thor nodded once, placing his hand on a doorknob in the room with the giant bed. “For barely two years. ‘Tis a shame you were unable to become acquainted. You and Lady Sigyn had much in common.”

“Had? Where is she now? Is she imprisoned like Loki?”

Pausing, Thor looked back at the petite brunette, her eyes full of curiosity. Moisture glistened along his lash line, his expression melancholy. “No. She was placed under guard after Loki was sentenced to eternity in the dungeon but she was lost when Malekith and the elves attacked. She was left defenceless against them and paid the ultimate price for Loki’s treachery. Father even denied her a proper Asgardian funeral because he deemed her ‘unworthy’.” Sighing, he pushed the door open, ready to leave these rooms that held such sadness.

Both gasped when they realized they had chosen the wrong door. This portal did not lead to the corridor out but rather to a room furnished with a beautifully carved cradle swathed in diaphanous ivory chiffon and a cushioned rocking chair, both waiting for an occupant who would never come. Mimicking the flickering stars that shone through the windows, golden stars were painted on the ceiling against a backdrop of swirling galaxies of purple, indigo, and deep teal. “They had a child?” Jane whispered, staring at a tapestry of Loki and a woman with waist length red hair facing each other, her hands clasped protectively in his. Moonlight illuminated the porcelain features of the woman woven in the wool, showing her to be a beauty with delicate features and the figure of an Old Hollywood movie star. She could have been none other than Lady Sigyn. It must have been placed in this circular room so that whatever child rested in that cradle would gaze on the figures of the handsome couple on the day they were wed.

“No, not together. But Sigyn had become somewhat withdrawn and kept to these rooms lately before Loki’s imprisonment. This must be why. She was with child.” He balled his fist, arm shaking with fury. “And my father, who could not have been ignorant of her condition, allowed her to be slain by the Dark Elves. No sword, no weapon at her disposal to defend herself and the heir of a son of Odin. This is gross injustice!”

Seeking to comfort the shaking man at her side, Jane placed her palm lightly on his forearm. Regardless if the slain woman was the wife of the villainous Loki, her heart broke knowing Sigyn had been forced to wait, knowing death swiftly approached. She even felt sympathy for the criminal who sat in a cell somewhere beneath Asgard, no doubt mourning the loss of not only his wife, but of his child. It was a fate she would not wish on her worst enemy. “Come, Thor. What is done is done. There is nothing to be done for them.” After the loss of his mother, she knew he did not need to add to the crushing heartbreak he already felt.

Grudgingly he obliged, allowing her to pull him from the room and shut the door. “If this is a means of punishing Loki further for his transgressions, it goes too far. I shall see you safely to your chamber then I would have words with my father.”

This time finding the correct door, they walked down the hall toward the antechamber. “You often speak about how just and wise a king your father is. I cannot imagine he would do something so terrible,” Jane reasoned.

“He is not the man he once was. Changed even since I first made your acquaintance two years hence. He has grown old, paranoid. It once would have been against his respect for life to sacrifice the life of a woman and child to censure the husband but now I am not sure I even know him anymore. Sometimes I question if I ever did.”

Jane did not know how to respond so she simply squeezed his hand, looking over her shoulder one last time at the rooms before the heavy gold doors closed behind her and Thor. She felt they were sealing the memories of the life that Loki and Sigyn could have lived in a tomb. Together, she and the god of Thunder were stewards of a secret. Thor might have had the intention of confronting the Allfather about the fate of his sister-in-law, but Jane thought it fitting that they were literally and metaphorically closing the doors. The life Loki and Sigyn lived together could neither have been smooth nor easy so why intrude on the solitude that now reigned in their private realm?

Drowsy from her nocturnal exploration, Jane stretched out on her bed, the gold painted stars on the ceiling of the nursery dancing behind her eyelids. Gently Thor tucked the covers around her sleeping figure and placed a kiss as soft as a butterfly’s wing on her brow before retreating from the room. He gave one last glance at the Midgardian woman he so deeply loved before walking toward the throne room. Unlike Loki, he did not have the knowledge to grant his own human love immortality, but he knew now that, aside from the Aether that called to Malekith, perhaps the greatest threat to her life was from Odin himself.

He did not know how he would accomplish it, but to save Jane, he not only had to extract the Aether, but he had to get her away from Odin.

And to do that, he would have to seek the assistance of his greatest adversary. Someone who had lost all that was dear to him. Another who knew the pain Thor would feel if Jane were ever taken from him.

Loki.


	16. Redeeming Grace

He sat on the floor, bloodied and slumped against the wall, cheeks tight with the tracks of his dried tears, surrounded by the splinters of the furniture that he had destroyed. The last gift his mother had given him, Frigga had provided the splendid furnishings so that her son might have at least some comfort during his eternal captivity. She did not want to see him suffer in his cell; it was some comfort, therefore, that she was no longer alive to see him so anguished now. The last words he had spoken to her had been cruel, spiteful, despite all she had done for him. It flew in the face of the unconditional love she had shown him since the day Odin had returned from Jotunheim and handed the tiny Jötunn baby to the Queen of Asgard. From the moment she pulled the thick brown fur back and laid eyes on him, it was love at first sight. No matter what he did, Loki was her son and there was nothing he could do that would cause her to turn her back on him. Knowing he had done just that by explicitly denying her as his mother broke his heart, the heart that all in Asgard believed did not exist.

          Staring down at his hands, he turned them over, remembering the last time he had touched the only other woman in all the Nine Realms who truly loved him. Sigyn. His Sigyn. His love for her had been his one redeeming quality. His greatest weakness. Loki wanted to hate himself for having allowed himself to love her but he couldn’t. He might have been full of self-loathing for everything else, but the bright spot that had been his wife was the only warmth left to him on the cold floor of his cell. Now, in the wake of the elves attack, she and their child she carried were gone. They were in Helheim and while he should have been grateful that his daughter Hel would not be alone in the realm of the dead, Loki selfishly wanted his bride there with him. To feel the silkiness of her long auburn hair, the smoothness of her fair, freckled skin. To taste the balm of her kiss on his parched lips…

          He raised his bloodshot eyes and his breath caught in this throat. “Sigyn?” he whispered hoarsely, not daring to believe what he saw. She reached out toward him, pushing aside his limp, tangled hair, a rueful smile pulling at the corners of her cupid’s bow lips. Her deep brown eyes were baleful, filled with the pain of every hurt he had heaped upon her yet the overwhelming love she had for him still shone through. He didn’t deserve her. If they had lived ten thousand years he never would have been worthy of her. He had lied to her, used her, manipulated her. Bullied her. Despite the despicable manner in which he treated her, she had never left his side. While she lived, he expected nothing less. As his wife, her place was at his side. When the name of the god of Mischief became the punch line of jokes across the realm, she had been there to lend him dignity. Yet she stayed until the very end, having forsaken her own liberty for the sake of saving from him from his own follies.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so sorry,” he apologized, violent sobs wracking his body. “I wasn’t there to save you. My fault… all my fault.” Hand shaking, he lifted his fingers to her face, his only desire to wipe away the silver tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks.

Guards stationed outside the massive stone doors of the prison vault could hear the echoes of Loki’s screams as the vision of his wife vanished at his fingertips. Over and over he called her name, his agonized cries becoming less and less coherent as they echoed all around him. She was gone, truly gone. He had been denied by Odin a good-bye, unceremoniously hauled before the throne in chains and tossed like a common criminal into this cell. He wanted revenge. He wanted to make the All-Father pay with all that he held dear.

He thought he knew loneliness, but the Void was nothing compared to this. Having lost the only things that Loki ever valued, all he had now was time. Time to plot his retribution. Time in which to turn current events in Asgard to his advantage. Time during which he would peel back the layers of protection around Odin and lay him bare before going in for the kill. In time, Loki would smile again, filled with glee over his nefarious schemes and brimming with excitement of the future.

But for now, he indulged his loneliness. Today, he mourned.  _“After all,”_  he heard Sigyn remind him from beyond the veil.  _“Tomorrow is another day.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *While I know that it is in fact remnants of crushed fruit on his foot in the deleted scene of Loki screaming in his cell, I have taken the creative license of making it blood. I like the idea of him being injured but in too much emotional pain to care about the physical.


	17. Chapter 17

My last memory of Asgard was Hel being pulled from my arms by one of Theoric’s comrades and Loki being chained and dragged from our rooms without reasonable cause. After that, everything is black, an endless chasm of speculation. I had no clues to how I ended up in a palace outside Saint Petersburg, Russia but I could fathom what was probably a very realistic reason as to why.

Theoric returned to the Tsvetkov Palace several days later but I did not let on that I knew his name was not Ivan Tsvetkov. He did not know that I knew the child that grew in my womb was the seed of Loki Laufeyson, my right and true husband. At that time, not only did I want to tip my hand, he seemed even more remote and intense than usual. Something was troubling him deeply and I did not want to do anything which might cause him to lash out at me. I had more to consider than just a selfish desire to gloat. There would be time for that when I was restored to my right and proper station.

At night, when sleep evaded me, I would sit at my window and stare at the sky, recalling the view from the balcony off our bedchamber in the palace of Gladsheim. By just closing my eyes, I could picture the way the stars and the vivid colours of the nebulas glinted off the golden towers of the city, the prismatic Bifröst extending over the Sea of Marmora, and the flickering of torches and candles in the medina far below. I was born of Midgard, raised here, lived here until two years ago when I was kidnapped to Asgard. The thirst to conquer this realm at the centre of Yggdrasil had slowly abated as I grew to enjoy my life in the Realm Eternal. After learning of my pregnancy, exacting my vengeance on a lover who spurned me was no longer of as much importance. Ironically, he now had a son with the woman for whom he rejected me, born about a month after I conceived Loki’s child. Perhaps, if the life I carried in my womb was a girl, that goal could be achieved from the inside. The existence of Asgard was no longer myth to the mortals of Earth. In twenty or so years, a diplomatic arrangement might be arranged. Their son, our daughter.  _No._   _Pulling on the heartstrings of another is an invitation for heartbreak._ Had I nothing better to do while I waited than plan arranged marriages for my progeny?

Once, in one of those moments of silence, I opened my mind and called out to Loki. Paranoia set in when I encountered the same obstruction he had thrown up following our fight after Litha. Only somehow this one seemed different. It was if there was nothing on the other side of the barrier. I slumped to the floor, on my knees with my face in my hands, bent over as far as my distended abdomen allowed, quietly sobbing Loki’s name, terrified that Odin had handed down the ultimate punishment onto my husband’s head.

Grey light was bleeding through the lace curtains when I heard footsteps rapidly approaching, loud and heavy on the worn hardwood floor. I attempted to get up from the floor but, being well into my third trimester, I was barely on my knees when Theoric burst into the room, the wooden door cracking halfway down the middle at the force of his entrance. But I was too slow and it was too late anyway: he had heard me uttering the name of my husband, a name I should not remember.

I screamed as he lunged at me, his teeth gnashing as he threw me onto my back and knelt on either side of my knees, ripping the delicate silk bodice of my nightgown. “Wench!” he spat, insulting me with the same derogatory term I heard fall so often from Loki’s own lips. “Mortal born hussy, thinking yourself so far above everyone else in Asgard, never once considering there might be someone better than that cretinous Loki.”

Terrified at his attack, I was not thinking of myself a goddess, a woman with the training of a warrior and a spy. My mind was in a place, some eighteen years hence, when I was a helpless eight year old at the mercy of a male who offered no resistance to his own perversions. “No!” I screamed, forcing myself to remember who I was now. I was not the defenceless child I was then. Bending my knees and pulling my heels as close to my rear end as I could, I pushed my pelvis off the ground, labouring under Theoric’s weight as well as the bulk of pregnancy. Simultaneously I slid my arms to the side and as his body crashed down, scrambled out of the way and onto my feet, kicking him in the face with as much force as I could. Not waiting for his reaction, I sprinted through the hall and down the main stairway, crashing through the front door of the residence, sliding to a halt on the driveway of pulverised shells. “Heimdall!” I screeched, my voice shrill. “Heimdall! Open the Bifröst! HEIMDALL!”

“He won’t open the bridge for you,” Theoric taunted from behind me. I spun and backed away from him, watching as he wiped blood off his upper lip. It appeared I had broken his nose if nothing else. I wished I had the dagger I kept strapped to my thigh in Asgard; there I kept it as a safeguard against Loki’s unpredictable behaviour. It must have been removed either prior to my exile or soon after my arrival in Russia, before I woke up. In this vast space, I felt vulnerable. Nobody would ever hear me scream and there was no way I could out-manoeuvre him in my condition, much less best him in a fight. “Odin ordered the Bifröst closed after the Queen’s death. Oh, did you not know that? I assumed you would seeing as you have conveniently regained the knowledge of who you are,  _Lady Sigyn._ ”

“No, I knew,” I replied quietly, using my shaking fingers to hold the tattered material of my nightdress together. I could not be entirely sure, but I suspected that Frigga had used her magic to alter my memories and when she died, the spell was lifted. For the small amount of magical education I’d had in Asgard, it was shoddy spell work. Such a spell should have been permanent in her expert hands… unless she had planned it that way. “You tell me nothing I have not already seen. But if the All-Father declared the Bifröst closed, how then did you get here from Asgard?”

Theoric’s smile was menacing as he continued to advance toward me. My steps faltered when a blue glow pulsed from inside his coat. “I have my ways.”

_“You have the Tesseract,”_ I accused.

“Smart girl. Shame, it is, that I have to leave you here, a goddess all on her own in this wilderness. But I really must go. I am sure that your father in law would be grateful to know you seem to have recovered.”

Above us, the sky darkened and thunder rolled; the wild thought that Thor had arrived passed through my mind. I looked upward, hopeful but instead of the God of Thunder, I saw a hole opening in the sky above, an inky black spot with mottled electric blue edges. When Loki arrived in the SHIELD facility in the American Southwest, I was not there to observe but the post-incident documentation described a similar phenomenon. Theoric was harnessing the Tesseract’s power to open a portal into space.

To Asgard.

Desperately I ran forward, but was launched backward into the grass as Theoric disappeared into the Void, his laughter echoing behind him. With a boom, the portal closed and I was left alone, trembling on the wet grass as I considered the ramifications of what had just happened. Theoric knew I had regained my lost memories and he had the Tesseract. Asgard had been attacked. By whom? What did that have to do with me, if anything?

I struggled to my feet and trudged inside, my mind a maelstrom of thoughts, conspiracies, and fear. Somehow I had to find answers. Even if it only confirmed my worst fears, I needed to know.

 

For two days, I stayed in bed, sore from Theoric’s attack and my rough landing after the portal closed. I feared the jolt as I landed on the ground had harmed my baby but my regularly scheduled appointment with the midwife went without incident. Mrs. Sapozhnikova fed me kasha and rye toast again and seemed suspicious when I ate it without complaint. At the end of the second day, I dismissed all the staff. I wanted to be completely alone. 

When I finally rose from my bed on the third day, I meandered through the palace, using my magic to locate the holster for my dagger as well as the few personal effects I had on my person that last day in Asgard. The leather thong that fastened around my thigh was the only article that still fit; I wore no armour that day and the gown, voluminous as it was, was not sufficiently spacious enough for my expanded bust and waistline. Working quickly, I cut the silk into strips and tossed the pieces into the fire in the library so it would never be found. It was a wonder the cleaning staff had not discovered it yet.

I wasn’t a total recluse and I did enjoy the occasional venture into St. Petersburg to shop. Despite not having been in nearly a month, I had stocked up on my last trip, worried about the notorious Russian winter, and had plenty of clothing to last me straight though the last trimester. So far the winter had been mild, although at least two feet had fallen overnight. But in the days since I have rediscovered who I truly was, I felt more of an affinity toward the traditional Russian _sarafan_  and thick, woollen shirts than the denim trousers with thick elastic bands across the belly and loose sweaters. The folk dress was comforting, reminding me in an intangible way of the flowing gowns I wore in Asgard. I had several of the dresses and took to wearing them around, not caring that the fine brocade garment was meant for ceremonial occasions or folk gatherings.

Wandering through the house on the fourth night after Theoric’s assault, I pulled a thick white bolero with red wool piping over my sarafan and walked outside, heading toward the spot where Theoric had used the Tesseract to return to Asgard. I wanted to see if any magical energies from the event remained. I was aware of the futility of the endeavour, that I was just clutching at straws, but I needed to know I had exhausted each and every possible idea for returning to the Ream Eternal. Magically I didn’t even know what I was doing. Abstract magic such as seeking traces of old magic performed was something I knew both Loki and Frigga could do but I had never been taught. I suspected it took nuances I did not possess yet, being a fledgling, but I’d be damned if I didn’t at least try. An object as powerful as the Tesseract would undoubtedly leave traces.

            It was freezing, the wind whipping my hair and stinging my face. My fur  _ushanka_ only protected the crown of my head, ears, and chin from the elements; fine green light flashed from my fingertips and a soft wool scarf appeared in my hands, which I quickly wound around my face, covering my lips and nose. Breathing was difficult but it was a small price to pay for warmth.

            The closer I drew to the woods, the more my unease mounted. Not only could I feel the residual energy from the Tesseract, there was something else. The hairs on the back of my neck stood and my skin crawled, causing me to immediately go on the defensive. Something was out there watching me.

            I turned to return to the warmth and relative safety of the house but froze when a shadowy figure emerged from the edge of the woods, a black silhouette against the vast sea of skeletal white birch.  _Theoric._

            Backing away slowly, I held my breath even though the pounding of my heart was physically painful. I had insulted him and his manhood when I fought off his attack and now he was intimidating me again, silently stalking me. A tear slid down my cheek, the air frigid enough to freeze its trail instantly.

            “Sigyn.”

            That voice. No. It was my mind playing tricks on me. My memory conjuring a soothing sound to calm my nerves. A soothing sound to ease my last moments. With every step that shadowy figure took toward me, death came more and more swiftly. It was imminent.

            “Sigyn, beloved.”

            “Get thee behind me, Satan!” I yelled, my sanity slipping as my control evaporated. Old habits die hard, especially in moments of crisis. My knees gave way and I sank into the snow, sobbing. For Asgardians, there is neither heaven nor hell. There is Hel and there is Valhalla. Who did gods pray to? Would I go to Hel and join my daughter or, if I stood and made my last stand would I be escorted to the halls of Valhalla by the Valkyrie? Or had I forfeited my chances of a divine afterlife? To whom did gods pray?

            “Heimdall,” I whimpered, shivering as snow soaked through my clothing. “I know Odin has forbidden you from opening Bifröst, but please,  _please_ … you are the only one who can help. For the sake of the innocent life in my womb. Do not let the child suffer for the sins of the father…”

            “Sigyn.”

            “You’re dead! What trick is this that I hear your voice? I know who you are and I shall not give in without a fight, Theoric Ulikson!”

            I wanted to stand and fight but instead I remained on my knees, protecting my child as best I could. I would plead for our lives, I would swallow my pride and beg, looking up at the man who had attempted to force himself on me. So long as I lived just long enough to give birth, I would consider my actions worth it. Loki’s memory might have been tarnished nearly beyond repair but he deserved to have a healthy child to carry on the legacy of all he had been.

            Footsteps halted just inches from me, the figure of my sinister guest hovering above me. I flinched as a two fingers encased in a glove of black leather lifted my chin. Squeezing my eyes closed, I allowed this surprisingly gentle touch to encourage me to my feet. “Sigyn, open your eyes and look at me.”

            “You’re not real,” I whispered. “You’re just a ghost.”

            “Please, beloved?”

            There was a discernable sadness in his tone, a desperate pleading that I had never before heard, almost as if his voice were cracking. Deep inside me, something broke and I could no longer fight my heart. I had to know for sure if it was a specter.

            His face was taut and drawn, the fine lines around his eyes more sharply etched into his pale skin, and he was thinner than that day we had been forcibly separated but he was healthy. He was crying, biting his bottom lip as if to staunch its quivering. Death seemed to have settled in his green eyes, their normally merry depths seeming haunted by unspeakable pain and suffering. Much as I wanted to hold him, to soothe whatever he had been through during this time, I instead slumped into his arms, shaking as I wept, every emotion I had been repressing and battling for weeks pouring from me as I clung to him.

            “Loki, it’s you, it’s really you. I thought you dead.”

            “My beloved Sigyn, as I did you,” he admitted, the arm around my waist tightening. “They told me… you and my mother… lost when the dark elves attacked…”

            Clutching him tightly, afraid if I let go he would vanish, that he really was just a figment of my imagination, I pulled his face to mine, kissing his lips. His warm breath on my face, the moisture of his kiss, confirmed that he was real. I was not dreaming. Loki lived.

            “Let us get you inside,” he urged, moving toward the dark manor. “This weather is not healthy for you.”

            Clinging to each other for mutual support and comforted by each other’s presence, we slogged into the palace and up the stairs, lifting our silent prayers to the Norns that through their good graces, we had been reunited at last.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited, Loki and Sigyn have much to discuss

Supporting each other, we walked through the polished maple entry way and up the stairs, down the Grand Gallery to my bedroom. To feel his presence next to me again was a gift from the Norns. Since my memory returned, I had felt vulnerable and after Theoric’s attack, terrified. Early in our marriage, Loki had said ghastly things to me, issuing thinly veiled threats, but for all the emotional turmoil he exposed me to, Loki had never once raised a hand to me. I loved Loki with everything that I had despite knowing our love was tainted with toxins. Away from Asgard and our presence on Midgard unknown, here with Loki in this palatial estate in Russia was the safest I had felt since arriving in the Realm Eternal.

          I switched the lights on and turned to evaluate my husband, my first good look at him since the day Odin’s guards dragged him from me in chains. He was paler than I’d seen him and his hair hung limply over his shoulders. His green eyes, which normally flashed with the same hard sharpness as emeralds, were dull and sunken. Despite the way his skin seemed more tautly pulled over his cheekbones than usual, he was obviously well nourished. Whatever these changes were, they and the imprisonment that he had clearly escaped or been liberated from had left him weary. “Loki, what happened?” I asked, gently sliding my hands in his. “I tried to reach you but it was as if there was nothing on the other side.”

          He sat heavily on the edge of my bed, releasing my hands to press his fingers over his eyes. “Perhaps that is a story for a better time, my beloved. Now you must gather the things you wish to keep with you. We must make haste back to Asgard. There are changes, many changes, to which need my attention.”

          There was only one thing I wanted to keep. Briefly tearing myself from him, I pulled the box of rose coloured velvet from the shelf in my wardrobe and set it on the mattress. “Not before you tell me what happened,” I demanded, taking a seat beside Loki and grasping his hand again. “I do not trust there are no ears to eavesdrop on us in Asgard.”

          “Sigyn…”

          “I need to know, Loki. Please. For my peace of mind. I do not even know why I am here. Perhaps your story will help make sense of mine.”

          He sighed deeply, regaling me with the farce of a trial and his imprisonment, the many lonely days he spent with only the company of his books. He spoke of the monster in the dungeons, the chaos as the prisoners were freed by a monster, the short time of unnatural silence following the breakout. Loki’s voice dropped lower when he told me how it was Theoric that broke the news of Frigga’s death. “And yours. He told me that you were slain by the elves in their attack, killed by one of Malekith’s men…” Looking away from me, he shot to his feet, striding toward the window. “I was led to believe I had lost you, both of you. You. Our child. Gone.”

          “Loki,” I said, getting to my feet and walking to him. I laid my hand on his shoulder but he stepped away from me, hanging his head as if in shame. “The Dark Elves? But I thought them long dead. For millennia. I only knew of their existence from that illuminated manuscript in the Hall of Science.”

          “They were supposed to be dead for the last five thousand years,” he confirmed, glancing back at me over his shoulder. “There was never a trace, any indication any of the Dark Elves still lived until my blasted brother brought that mortal woman of his to Asgard. We were all caught unawares…” once again, he stopped abruptly, his voice catching.

          This time he allowed me to press my palms on his back, sliding them up to his shoulders even if he didn’t except to continue with his story. “In exchange for transporting Thor and his mortal to Svartalfheim, the Odinson offered to grant me my freedom.” Turning slowly, Loki looked back at me, his face a mask of pain remembered. “Revenge for all they had taken from me.

          “I accepted. Why should I not? What was there for me if I did not go along with his scheme? An eternity of anguish, surrounded by the same blank space… I introduced myself to Thor’s little mortal,” he declared, changing his tone. “She’s feisty. Reminded me you.”

          “How so?” I questioned, sliding my arms around his waist. As long as he was allowing me, I had to have my hands on him. I was afraid if I didn’t, I would wake up and find this all to be a pleasant dream.

          “She slapped me,” he replied wryly. “Restitution for my attack on New York.”

          “The woman wouldn’t dare!” I gasped. “To strike a god… I’d never… _And how did that remind you of me?_ I’ve not once…”

          “ _That._ That is why she reminded me of you. She seemed quite argumentative, although I don’t believe nearly so much as you, my dear. Nor near as stunning.”

          “Plain Jane,” I harrumphed, reluctantly returning Loki’s smile. “Enough about the mortal. Your story. I do not feel satisfied that you have told me all which transpired.”

          “No, I have not. Sigyn, I must seek your forgiveness.”

          “Loki…” I began, stunned. Apologising was not one of Loki’s traits. I sank down into one of the chairs, my knuckles turning white as I gripped the thin arm. “What has transpired that you wish me to pardon?”

          “There is much you know and more you are as of yet ignorant. In time I will tell you all but for now…” I watched in horrified silence as the familiar green light indicative of his magic surrounded him like an aura, transforming his visage into that of Odin. Immediately I was suspicious, terrified, furious, confused, and a multitude of other feelings. “Am I deceived? How do I know that you truly are Loki? _What have you done, Loki?”_ I cried, my voice reedy and ripe with unspoken emotion. I was crying, openly weeping, my whole body convulsing with sobs. “What have you done to my husband?”

          Through the veil of my tears, the emerald aura diffused as Loki reappeared before me. “Darling, beloved, my Sigyn,” he soothed. “All that matters is that we are reunited.”

          “How though? How did you know where to find me? The Nine Realms are so vast. Out of all ten billion souls under Heimdall’s watch, how did you know where I was? Or that I even still lived?”

          He sighed and paced, hanging his head as if in shame, hair falling in a black curtain that obscured his face from view. It was obvious he did not want to have this discussion. There was something- possibly a great number of somethings- he did not want to reveal. “Sigyn…”

          “Loki, I am going nowhere until you speak. You will have to content yourself living on Midgard until I learn the truth.” I waved my hand, indicating the room which was currently witnessing our standoff. “Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

          “Were you not paying attention moments ago? Did you not see me as Odin before your eyes? Asgard needs its king.”

          “Precisely why you must divulge the events leading to this reunion. Loki, I’m your _wife._ I _deserve_ to know,” I pleaded.

          “The Dark Elves had fearsome warriors, soldiers who were transformed into beastly creatures capable of felling whole legions alone,” he began in a flat, emotionless voice. “The Kursed, they were called. Eradicated with the rest of the elves when Bor Burison, King of Asgard, took the Aether, leaving their world to be poisoned with light. All except one. It did not even occur to me when I witnessed him leading the breakout in the dungeons; the elves disappeared ages before my birth. There was no reason for me to even contemplate that the monster was one of them. I did not even know until Thor came to barter my freedom that the Svartálfar were behind the attacks.

          “We were waiting when Malekith arrived. When he drew the Aether from that woman, Thor attempted to destroy it. But an artefact of such power is not destroyed by lightening. The Aether was Malekith’s to command and once he had become one with it, he and several of his soldiers fled, leaving the Kursed one and a half-dozen lackeys behind to finish us off.

          “I eliminated the remaining Svartálfar soldiers in quick succession but Kurse was about to finish off Thor.” Loki’s tale stopped abruptly as his voice faltered. When he trudged back to where I sat, his face was unnaturally white and eyes wild. Before me sat a little boy, terrified at the thought of losing his brother, of being alone for the first time in his life. “Sigyn, I couldn’t,” he whimpered, crouching before me and wrapping his arms around my calves. He was clinging to me, everything else having been cleaved from him, but I knew no words of comfort. I sobbed, my whole body shuddering as I rested my hand on top of his head. At my feet was a broken god. “I couldn’t let him do it.

          “I stabbed him. I sneaked up behind the Kursed and impaled him through the chest. A fatal blow to any creature. When he about-faced, I made no move to save myself. Mother dead. You and our child gone. What had I to live for? I greeted death with open arms.”

          “Valhalla is for the bravest of Asgard’s warriors. Those who fought with distinction. But it was not to the Hall of [Glaðsheimr](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gla%C3%B0sheimr)that my soul travelled. Hela was devastated to see me before her throne. It was the most unhappy of filial reunions. She is bitter, infuriated by the treatment which was shown to us that last day on which we were all together.

          “Her dominion is the soul of every Asgardian, living or deceased, unless Odin or Freyja has claimed them for their halls of undead. Odin can banish a subject to the deepest pit of Muspelheim but just as the Gatekeeper can see them, the Goddess of Death also knows their whereabouts. Your soul was not in her realm. You lived.

          “Unwilling to play into this plot of the All-Father’s, my daughter restored me to life. I had died believing there to be nothing to live for any longer but in possession of this new knowledge, I vowed to do whatever necessary to bring you home.

          “Theoric arrived on the Dark World searching for any trace of Thor and I. Disarming him, I tortured the cretin for any information he knew. He was resilient but with the aid of my magic, I extracted the information I had been seeking and more.” Loki rocked back on his heels. The look on his face had changed from that of the devastated little boy to fiery determination, that spark of evil reigniting in his eyes. “He is dead. That louse will never touch you again. After I got the information I sought, I made him pay for his transgressions against you with his life.”

          “Theoric… dead,” I repeated. Prior to my exile, I would not have wished his death. Being irritating did not warrant execution. However, he had transgressed against me and my body, putting my child- the only thing I had left of Loki- in peril. Loki did not offer me the details of how he dispatched the einherjar’s soul to Valhalla (where he no doubt went, with Odin’s blessing) but knowing the rages into which my husband flew, I had no doubt that his demise was painful. More than relief I felt vindication. I had been unable to do more than break his nose and chase him, send him running back to Asgard. Back into the situation in which his life was forfeit. My gratitude to Loki was overwhelming. “But what of the Tesseract? It was in Theoric’s possession. With Bifröst closed, it was his means of transport between the realms.”

          “Patience, wife.” A look quickly passed across his face but was replaced by steely determination in the same instant. “My tale has not reached its finish.

          “Assuming his form, I magically altered his appearance to that of mine should any others come searching. Taking the Tesseract, I used the craft he had arrived in to return to Asgard, venturing to the palace to make my report to Odin, to deliver the news that Thor was gone and Loki dead. I took the opportunity to exact my revenge on Odin for all the slights of my youth, for favouring Thor, and for tearing us asunder, sending me news that you were dead.”

          “You usurped the throne?” I gasped. I had not grasped the meaning of when he transformed into the All-Father. Responding to the adrenaline coursing through my system in response to his revelation, our child leapt in my womb. Hand fluttering to my stomach and heart, I sank further into the chair, hunching my shoulders. “Regicide, Loki? How shall you sustain this charade? It shall be your life at stake shall Asgard learn of your treachery!”

          “We will deal with that when the time comes. For now, none know of the ruse. Even all seeing Heimdall lives in ignorance. I placed the Tesseract back in the vault and travelled here by way of the bridge. To him, I am Odin, come to deliver the news you are widowed and in the wake of Thor rejecting his birthright in favour of a live among mortals, that the child you shall bear is Asgard’s heir.”

          “Thus you have almost all you wanted. The throne and the promise of a dynasty sprung from your loins to whom you shall pass that power. All of it except the luxury of boasting Loki is king.”

          “Odin is alive and well… in the dungeons. Contrary to your conclusion, I did not murder him. Oh, I considered it. But he was quite docile. Age and grief made him soft. He put up little resistance. Moreover, I had thought you would be pleased. Is this not why you pled your allegiance to me whilst I was caged by SHIELD? Because you thirsted for conquest? A throne of which you felt denied?” he snapped.

          “Once upon a time, absolutely. But I have more to think about than myself now!” I countered, using the slender chair arms to push myself to my feet. “Surely as this child is yours it is mine as well and it is our duty to protect it! What help will you be parading around as your father, leaving me to play the part of the widowed mother of the Heir to the Throne? I was content to be wife of Loki, mother to a slew of Lokisons and –dottírs! To be Queen and sit at your side as consort. Not this way, Loki. Not this way.”

          “How else then, Sigyn? _How else?_ Do you not see I did this for you? For our child? Hela gave us a second chance at a life as a family. I ensured that we could be together. A future!”

          I wobbled toward him, softly cupping my hand around his face. “What kind of future _is_ this?” A tear slid down my face as I guided his face to mine, kissing him for the first time in months. All that I had learned tonight was too overwhelming for me to even begin processing. Having Loki alive and standing inches from me rendered everything else secondary. The situation awaiting us in Asgard was terrifying but standing beside Loki, I felt invincible. After all we had been through already and what he had done to reunite us, there was nothing that could keep us apart. Not even, it seemed, death. “There is one last thing I wish to know. How did I come to be here? Why?”

          “For the same reason as everything else: me. Although Odin thought he was being merciful when he ordered his guards to bring you here. There is an ancient deposit of Rhinegold in Russia, money once in the treasury of the Romanovs but lost to them in the Revolution. In fact, it was Thor and I who were sent to secure it following the rise of Lenin. But that is an old tale, one for another time. That bauble,” he indicated, pointing at the velvet box I had left sitting on my bed, “was amongst the artefacts we managed to retrieve.”

          Unconcerned with the origin of the gold kokoshnik, I waved my hand. “And the spell? My memory? What of that?”

          “My mother’s magic, no doubt. Modifying or erasing memories can be permanent but I suspect that the spell was conditional on her existence. When she perished, the spell was lifted.”

          Mentally I wrestled with telling Loki about my vision of Frigga in those final moments but I decided against it. Instead I clung to my husband like the survivor of a shipwreck clings to a life preserver. Coming back into Loki’s embrace was like going home. I felt secure. Loved. Knowing as soon as we returned to Asgard, Loki would no longer be himself but Odin, I did not want to leave this palace in the Russian forest but there was no longer time in which to dawdle. “Loki,” I said, raising my eyes. He met mine, his gaze content but rimmed with unshed tears. “Thank you.”

          “You are the only thing in the Nine Worlds that I truly love, the love of my immortal life. Stand resolute in that knowledge. There is nothing I would not do to keep you safe. I know I will not always make you happy or even proud, but I will keep you safe. There is no force that shall harm you so long as I draw breath. Take this as my oath.”

          “I do.” Repeating the words I had said on the day we were wed, the tears began falling down our cheeks. On that day, I had neither trusted nor loved Loki. Following it, I had doubted his- and my- feelings, anxious that he was leading me on, deceiving me about the love he had so eloquently professed on the banks of the river on our Honeymoon. Now I knew with absolute certainty.

          I am my beloved and my beloved is mine.  


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back in Asgard, Sigyn bides her time

Having returned to Asgard by means of Bifröst, Loki in the guise of Odin, I ordered our rooms to be draped in black. The gauzy white curtains in our bedchamber, the embroidered hangings on our bed, even bunting of black crepe satin was hung from the massive columns throughout the apartment. To visitors, this was the living space of a person in the deepest of mourning. Stealing away from his duties as monarch one day, masked by one of his illusions, Loki took in the change in décor. He didn’t question the dour fabrics. He understood that I had to acknowledge his “death” in some manner. Heand I were the only two in all the Nine Realms, aside from the All-Father deepin the dungeon, who knew the truth. What he questioned was the sincerity with which I mourned. “You act as if I were truly dead and that you mourned for me.”

* * *

 

“Don’t I?” I countered, not even looking up from the tiny gown of white silk I was embroidering. Someone had been through the rooms in our absence but they had taken nothing and left only footprints in the dust collected on the floors. The garment I had been working on the day Balder made his goodbyes was still lying in the cedar chest in my wardrobe, same as I had left it. In truth, I did mourn. I regretted bitterly that I would birth this child into a world where his or her father lived in secrecy. That I could not gently place them at Loki’s feet and watch with pride as he picked up his offspring, declaring to all that he claimed this infant as his own. By right I should be hailed as Queen of Asgard, wife of the one who sits upon the throne. Thor had abdicated his right as heir; upon drawing first breath, this child would be first in line to the Kingdom of Asgard. I did mourn. I mourned all that was and all that should have been.

Eir and her midwifery apprentice came to check on me the morning after I returned. “The mortal woman who tended you was competent enough,” she declared, satisfied at what she saw. “I expect you to give birth within days, Your Highness.” The Goddess of Healing was a matter-of-fact sort of woman but she was possessed of a level of compassion and warmth that only a healing deity could claim. Smiling sadly, she took the liberty of grasping my hand and squeezing. “Do not be impatient for the day, lady. Just as for mortals, childbearing is dangerous work for us as well.”

Iduna came around daily, bearing her golden apples. “Because of your provenance,” she explained delicately, placing her palm on the crest of my stomach as I lounged on the chaise in the sitting area, “I want to make sure you are well-imbued with the restorative properties of the Fruit of Immortality. Neither Eir nor I know how or if your mortal origins will compromise your safety during childbirth. It should be of no concern, but to make sure, we want you to eat at least one of these a day until you go into labor.” I accepted her fruit, grateful to have her company for a few hours at a time. She also brought baskets with jars of herbs and thick pastes, introducing me to holistic medicines. “Very useful at times when there is an incident that needs attention but not enough to disturb a Healer.” I stored these concoctions in the empty pantry in the vestibule, carefully labeling them and arranging them alphabetically, listing a few of the uses on a slip of paper tucked between the shelf and the bottom of the container. Somehow I had a feeling these remedies would be necessary one day.

Returning to Asgard as soon as the bridge had reopened, Freyja brought her daughters and called on me, pressing a cloth bag that emitted a delicious, earthy, herbal aroma into my hands. “Tea from Vanaheim,” she explained. “Fortified with the same spices used in wine. I have always found this to be comforting in times of loneliness.” As she stared over the skyline of the city below, I knew to what loneliness she referred. Her trip through the branches of Yggdrasil had yet again yielded no clues to the whereabouts of her husband. She too mourned a spouse who still lived but was far removed. Unlike her, however, mine was within touching distance. I knew were my husband was but he was beyond my reach.

In the wake of the Convergence, there was much to which the All-Father needed attending. The realms were in disarray and junk from Thor’s fight with Malekith littered the unspoiled surfaces of the worlds. Dignitaries from across the realms arrived in front of the throne, bringing their pleas to the King. A grand chair was placed at the bottom of the steps in front of the throne, just to the right, where I was expected to sit and listen, my presence proof of the continuity of the House of Odin. Normally such a task interested me but being mere weeks, if not days, from birthing my child, I was restless and easily fatigued. Much as I wished to help, I had to will myself awake, smiling gently as dignitaries and residents of Asgard alike made their petitions, their sympathetic eyes meeting mine as they bowed in obeisance. Often I resented Loki for demanding my presence but I did not argue. I hadn’t the strength and after learning what he had done to bring me home to Asgard, I intrinsically knew that part of his reasoning was so that I would never be far from his sight.

Based on Eir’s predictions as well as the court astrologer’s star charting, I looked for the child to be born no more than five weeks after returning from Russia. With the time drawing nearer and nearer, my anxiety steadily mounted. The first week I was back in Asgard, Loki would set up illusions, disguise himself to all but himself and I, and other tricks to visit me in the suite I now occupied alone. To anyone who might interrupt us, I might have appeared to be speaking with Farda, sitting with my sewing, or reading a book. Just as we were protected from discovery by a veil of magic, so also was a barrier that separated Loki and I. Seemingly I had lost more of him to the role he had usurped. The mantle of kingship rested like an iron yoke upon his shoulders and I paid the price at every turn. Above all else, I wanted to be the one to whom he could come when he needed peace from the tasks of a king. Desperately I hoped that, despite knowing his personality and his fierce independence, he would allow me to do what I could for him. But for all his protestations, he had promised to love and protect me. Continuing this charade was his way of upholding that promise. There was no telling what would happen should he reveal the truth to Asgard. Visions of lynch mobs, torches blazing in the night, haunted my dreams. Would their anger come to rest on my head as well? Would I be implicated in Loki’s treason?

Restless and bored, I requested transport to Iduna’s, wrapping a blanket of soft olive green velvet over my lap. She chided me when Hrafn announced my arrival but entertained me warmly, offering me mulled cider… made, no doubt, from the reserve of apples in her larder. By the time I returned to my suite and shed my furred cloak, the chill of the late afternoon breeze had crept into my bones.

Ordering refreshment and my bath, I undressed and wrapped one of Loki’s furs around my body, tip toeing across the freezing flagstones. Farda had the water drawn and a plate of lavender honey cakes waiting on a golden platter on the edge of the sunken tub. She offered me her hand as I stepped down into the hot water; my center of balance was already dangerously askew from pregnancy without slipping on the wet tiles.

I relaxed into the hot water, feeling the tension in my muscles unknotting. The child leapt to life in my womb, awakened by the rush of heat. I watched as the taut skin of my belly bulged in response to the kicking of tiny feet. “I know, baby, I know,” I cooed, gliding my palm over each bulge. “You’ve run out of room in there.”

“Does it hurt, m’lady?” Farda asked, fingers massaging my scalp with lavender-scented shampoo.

I turned my head and saw her watching my stomach in awe. “No, it doesn’t hurt,” I informed her with a smile. “Sometimes it takes me by surprise, especially since this  _djöfullinn barn_  keep hours so contrary to my own. It’s an odd sensation at times, an incredibly wonderful one, knowing there is life within your body, but it doesn’t hurt. Would you like to feel?”

“I… I don’t know how proper that would be, m’lady. I am but a servant…”

“Nonsense,” I interrupted, waving my hand in dismissal of her words. Sunlight from the mullioned windows behind us struck the drops of water that fell from my hand like beads of amber, briefly distracting me. For a fraction of a minute, I was back in Russia. The style of the bathing chamber was a mélange of Asgardian, Turkish, and high Russian, with intricate patterns and rich colors. Similar designs could be found inside the great aristocratic palaces that lined the Neva River and streets of Saint Petersburg. “It is a natural process of life, for a woman to carry a child, and we should rejoice in it, sharing that happiness and sense of expectancy with other women.” Her hand steady despite her hesitation, I guided Farda’s hand to my abdomen, placing her soft palm over the spot where the child was pushing against their confines.

Behind me, the maid giggled, shaking her whole body. “That feels so  _odd!_ ”

I laughed with her, my soul feeling lighter for doing so. “It took some time to grow accustomed to it myself,” I admitted. “I believe I will feel empty for some time after the child is born.” Picking up the plate from the edge of the tub, I offered her one of the honeyed lavender cakes. “Speaking of which, please, help yourself. Belly full of this babe, I haven’t enough room for this food and I’d hate to see it go to waste.”

“Thank you, ma’am. But the reward shall be worth it, my lady, if that is not too forward of me to say,” she replied, gingerly picking up one of the pastries.

“Not at all,” I assured her. “You have my permission, nay my insistence, to always speak honestly.” Surrounded by dishonesty and deceit as I was, it would be refreshing to have at least one person speak the truth. “Tell me, Farda: what happened in Asgard while I was gone? I have found the courtiers less than forthcoming and the servants too frightened to speak of the events surrounding the invasion.”

“I… I didn’t see much of it. After you, Master Loki, and Hela vanished, the Queen graciously offered me employment in her retinue. Positions in her household are so rare; her attendants are fiercely loyal and remain for centuries, even millennia. I knew something was greatly amiss but because everything was kept so secret, nobody, not even myself, knew where you were. Master Loki was put on trial for attempting to conquer Midgard and sent to the prisons. Official word was that you had been placed under confinement elsewhere in the palace, arrested for being complicit in Loki’s crimes but no one believed it. Not of you. There were whispers that you had been sent back to Midgard but none dared ask. To question the All-Father is treason.

“Then Thor arrived with the mortal Jane Foster. She was ill, or so the rumour went. She was here no more than three days when the Svartálfar attacked.” The fingertips which had been massaging my scalp faltered in their movement, my maid’s breath hitching in a sob. “It was terrible, Lady Sigyn! The whole palace shook and the noise! The screaming, the battling… I’ve never seen battle firsthand, being a maid not a warrior. I feared for my brother in the ranks. And the Queen…” She was openly shaking with sobs now, frightened even at the memory. “They killed Queen Frigga and we were all told that you had also died in the invasion.

“All Asgard mourned. So many people lost. Asgard itself hasn’t been invaded since the time of Buri, eons ago. All those who perished were sent to Valhalla together, led by Queen Frigga, but Odin had denied you a proper funeral, denied you your pyre, because to him you were not Asgardian but mortal.”

I hissed. “Convenient that I was not dead, then,” I muttered. “Easier to bring me back from exile and say I was removed to Midgard for safety following Loki’s incarceration than to explain the absence of a body. Even more so that I happened to carry Loki’s heir; it makes Odin appear to be acting altruistically. Tell me,” I said, speaking clearly after my little aside. “How fared your brother?”

“Well, m’lady, thank you for asking. He was in a gunship that pursued Loki and Thor as they escaped. Fandral knocked him out but other than a blackened eye and a few bruises, he mended well.”

“I am glad to hear that he is well. Many of his comrades were not so lucky.”

“Thank you, ma’am. He and his wife are also expecting a child. Their third!”

I rubbed my flushed skin, pressing down slightly as if to calm the acrobatics of the child within, as I stood and exited the tub. “Life and death, it is a never ending cycle. You must let me know when your niece or nephew has been born. It would be my honour to send them a small token to mark the occasion.” 

Patting down my skin, the fluffy towel absorbing the thousands of sparkling water droplets on my skin, a smile replaced Farda’s sobs. “I shall, Lady Sigyn. It would mean much to them to know a goddess is thinking of them.”

* * *

 

Several days later, I received a summons from the All-Father. Slowly getting to my feet, I arranged the black mourning veil over my hair and face, knowing how Loki disliked the garment. I wanted him to be annoyed that I had to walk through the public areas with my face covered. It was petty of me, but knowing this little thing got under his skin so much gave me great satisfaction.

The einherjar led me to the great Council Chamber and opened the door, holding it open as I walked through. I knew that I had walked into another illusion that was visible to all except me and Loki. He stood in the large open arch, back to me, hands clasped, staring out over the kingdom it was now his duty to rule.

“Loki? You sent for me?” I asked tenderly, taking slow steps toward him. My fingers ached to touch his face, to slide over the leather of his clothing as I embraced him, my face turning upward to feel his kiss on my lips. I wanted my husband again, the man I thought I had been reunited with that night in Russia. I yearned to feel his strong hand on the swelling under which our child was growing, watching as his eyes lit up as his heir acknowledged the presence of their sire with a kick.

He did pull me toward him as I drew closer, slowly flipping the silk veil to cascade down the back of my head, wrapping a lock of hair around his index finger and bringing it to his lips. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“Loki…” I trailed off. There were so many things I wanted to say to him but didn’t dare. I didn’t want the first time we had been alone in two weeks to be a fight. “I’ve missed you too.”  

Lips meeting mine, I put up no resistance when he guided me against the table, my backside coming to rest on the polished surface. The lock of hair around his finger fell down to my shoulder as he tangled his hand in the ringlets at the back of my head, his other hand bunching up the slippery material of my dress around my thighs. Too lost in the sensations I had remembered in such frustrating clarity since the return of my memory, I made no attempt to curtail the ascent his warm hand made up my leg. I moaned so deeply at the jolt that went through my body when the tip of his finger brushed over my clit that my whole body vibrated. Something about it seemed so wrong, being so heavy with child and possibly within days of birth but it had been five months. Twenty long weeks. Desire overrode any sense that I should probably tell Loki to stop. I  _needed_  him more than I ever had before.

“Did your thoughts turn to me as you touched yourself?” he asked, slowly sinking to his knees.

“I haven’t been able to reach over or around this obstruction in months, Loki,” I sighed as his breath tickled my inner thigh. “You will find my most intimate places as you left them.”

I cried out as his tongue flicked across the tender bud, reclining back onto the table as he arranged my knees over his shoulder. “I have craved this, the finest and rarest delicacy in all the Nine Worlds, since I last partook of this nectar. You are a goddess and as such I come before you to worship as your humble priest.”

It did not take long before I was shuddering, a staccato of screams echoing through the room. Breathless, I struggled to sit up, to ease the pressure of the child pressing against my bladder, but I was too weak, my limbs heavy as uru. Loki took my hand and gently pulled, assisting me into a sitting position. “Thank you,” I murmured, expressing my gratitude for more than helping me upright. His lips were still dewy from partaking in his worship, the taste tangy on mine as he kissed me again, holding me fast against his chest as if he would never let me go.

We remained for some time; I was afraid to banish the comfortable silence that had descended on the room but some spark of intuition told me that this was the last time Loki and I would be truly alone for some time. “Loki, do you have a plan?” I asked at length, my voice drowsy but clear. From my mortal fascination with mythology, I knew that Frigga was called Sága for her ability to see the future but despite her foresight, she never spoke of what she saw. In the stillness of the Russian winter, I had wondered helplessly if the Queen had seen her death beforehand but I pushed that thought aside. I too always had an uncanny sense of premonition, dreaming of things before they happened. Usually innocuous, there were times it was a burden that I bore, biting my tongue against advising those around me against their current course of action. Married to Loki, I had so far been fortunate that his confinement curtailed his natural tendency for elaborate scheming but those days had come to an end. Of all the intrigues Loki had contrived, this was by far his most elaborate and deadly. If my dreams would not speak to me of the future, then Loki was my only chance at being prepared for the moment when the illusion was shattered.

He sighed, attempting to pull away from me but I held fast. Realising that I was not going to let him walk away, I prepared myself for the bite of his tongue, lashing out at my lack of faith, but it was not forthcoming. “For the first time in my long life, I haven’t any plan. I saw opportunity, one chance open for a hairsbreadth of an instant. I have made many plans but the conclusions are… undesirable. For now it seems this is to be our life.”

“What a fine mess we are in,” I replied, attempting a bit of levity. If Loki had no plan, then I had a lack of hope. Or he was lying. There were many reasons he would be false to me, many of which I could forgive. With him, even I never knew.

He stepped back, placing his hands on either side of my face, holding it steady, hunching so that his gaze was level with mine, their intensity almost overwhelming, but like when he stared into my eyes while we made love, I could not look away. To do so would be to invite the rest of the world into our moment, to break the spell that bound us in that moment. “Sigyn, do you trust me?”

“You doubt me, Loki?”

“You are the only person who stands to lose as much as I.”

“Loki,” I censured gently, knowing his contempt for expressing sentiment. I shared this trait but I didn’t want him to just insinuate. I wanted him to say it. I  _needed_  to hear the words.

I felt a slight increase in pressure on the sides of my face as his expression conveyed the potency of his emotion. Just in the short time since we had returned, the lines around his eyes had deepened even further than they were that night he found me in the forest of birch and several more fine lines had been added by the stress of the ruse. His lips, so recently driving me to insanity, were thin, the small scar on the right side of his upper lip stark against his pale skin. “Of anyone the galaxy wide, the Goddess of Fidelity is the only one in whom I place my trust.”

Before I could open my mouth to answer, he was kissing me again, hands still on either side of my face but instead of the rigid press of before, the grip had softened to a cradle, a gentle touch that reaffirmed his avowal. I wanted to surrender my body to him, for us to become as one. The dull ache in my lower back spread downward, that familiar tightening of my loins that craved his flesh to join with mine, to fill the void with his hardness. “Loki,” I sighed. Part of my body wanted to carry on but something was amiss. We could not allow this to go any further. I would have to be content with the brief pleasure he had given me minutes earlier. “Darling, we can’t.”

“The child,” he said, face falling as he backed away from me, readjusting his vest. “How soon?”

“At any moment.” I wrapped my fingers around his wrist and pulled his arm toward me, placing it on my pelvis, just at the point my abdomen began to rise. “The head is about here. And here,” I continued, sliding his palm upward. “Is a leg. Feel it?”

He pressed slightly and was rewarded with a strong kick. The expression that crossed Loki’s face was one of happiness but also fear. “Our child shall be a mighty warrior. Does it not hurt to be assaulted like so? From inside your own womb?”

“No more so than when you have done similar, pushing and pulling yourself from my body.”

“This is wholly dissimilar…”

“Is it? It is a pleasure, albeit of a much, much different sort than the movement you made during intercourse when you planted this seed, to feel the vigourous movement of your child in my womb.” As if to punctuate my assertion, I felt my womb tighten again, the baby struggling against the sudden constriction. “Perhaps by the next time you see me, I shall be cradling your heir in my arms.”

“My child I cannot claim as my heir.” Clouds descended in his eyes as he gnashed his teeth together, jaw muscles straining with the effort it was taking to keep his emotions in check. “Sigyn, beloved, I think it best you return to your… our… rooms. I must think. I need to plan. And certainly someone will have noticed how long you have been in conference with the All-Father. I do not want to bring any undue attention.” With one last embrace, he escorted me to the door, to the very boundary of his illusion, and bid me goodbye, sadness adding years to his face. With a heavy heart, I walked away, leaving Loki to his planning. For once, I did not believe that he was scheming, but actually planning for a future where we wouldn’t have to keep this secret.

Not paying much attention to where I was going, I bumped into Sif as I strode down the hall. Though not in any hurry, she seemed to be headed in the direction of the council chamber I had just left. No doubt she had news from her mission to Alfheim regarding the state of the Light Elves following the darkness unleashed during the convergence. Just as the light poisoned the elves of Svartalfheim, the darkness could be fatal to the Alfar, the peaceful elves who flourished in the soft luminosity of their realm.

"My Lady Sigyn!" She exclaimed, reaching out her hands to steady me as I stumbled. "Are you sure you should be roaming the corridors this soon to your time?" 

"Odin summoned me," I said, allowing her to steady me. It was comforting, for once, to see Sif. "He is in a mood. If you have business with the All-Father, I suggest you wait a while." I wanted to give Loki as much uninterrupted time to plan as I could… even if it was no more than a few precious moments.

"The Realms are at peace and the reconstruction of Asgard is nearing completion. What ails him so?"        

We began walking toward my receiving chamber, Sif gently grasping my elbow for support. “It eats at him every time I am in his presence to know with Thor absent, the only potential heir to his throne is in my womb, the offspring of his wayward adopted son Loki. The thought of a child born of Loki’s loins and the womb of a Midgardian is an affront to all Odin has achieved during his reign,” I explained. It was half true; it did vex the ruler of Asgard that the child in my womb was Loki’s child but not for the reason that I gave. It would be true of Odin if it was he who sat on the throne. Instead it was Loki and it ate him to the core that to gain control of the kingdom, he had to sacrifice his family.          

Sif’s face fell slightly at the mention of Thor. Two days after defeating Malekith, Thor had abdicated his place on the throne, choosing instead to live with Miss Foster on Midgard. Thor and Sif had once been very keen on each other and I knew the jealousy that the warrior goddess felt toward the mortal woman who had stolen Thor’s heart. Yet, I reminded myself, Jane had done one thing that benefited the scheme Loki had for Asgard: she lured the Odinson away from these hallowed halls. But that did not mean I couldn’t commiserate; having been separated from my own love, whole realms alienating us from each other, I could empathise with her anguish.

Conflicted as my thoughts about the sword-maiden were, I was grateful for her assistance and recent companionship. Soon after my return from exile, Sif had regaled me with the story of the attack on Asgard, detailing the encounter with Loki. “I wished you had been there,” she admitted. “Aether or no, you would have slain her for daring to raise a hand to your husband.” Though Loki had spoken of the incident during our reunion, Sif and I had laughed over the image of the petite mortal striking the much larger God of Mischief, the first time I had laughed since my rescue. 

As a pain ripped across my middle, I cried out in surprise. “M’lady?” Sif asked, concern flickering across her face. “Escort me to my chambers, Lady Sif, then hasten to alert the All-Father,” I gasped, panting as the sting ripped through my middle. 

She settled me in my chamber with my women in attendance and ran to the council chamber to spread the news. All of Asgard would wait with bated breath as the legacy of Loki was brought forth. 

Out of darkness, a new sun was rising in Asgard.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigyn goes into labour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Passing mention of self-harming.

 

“Girl!” Sif snapped as she practically forced me onto my bed, her finger pointing directly at a terrified-looking Farda. “Go fetch Eir at once. Make haste!” In a swirl of dark hair and sea foamgreen chiffon, my maid rushed out of the room, her voice panicked as sheordered one of the cleaning maids out of the way. I chuckled at the image of her bowling through the astonished looking staff, bound headlong on her errand. Taking advantage of Sif’s momentary distraction, I slid myself into a sitting position and attempted to put my feet on the floor, wanting to stay in motion. The contractions were spaced well apart but one look from her and I thought better; the warning glare she fixed me with left no room for doubt that she would wrestle me back onto the mattress, labour or not.  


Eir arrived, the picture of composure, and wasted no time in assessing my condition. “Lady Sif, go tell the All-Father Her Highness has gone into labour,” the Healer suggested, not bothering to glance up from her work. Turning on her heel, I watched as the warrior strode out of the room; I was not sure if it was the contracting of my womb or the heaviness of my heart, knowing that she was off to tell the husband I yearned to have at my side, that weighed me down.

“When did you first begin feeling your contractions?” Eir asked, delicately lifting the hem of my gown, moving it up around my waist. After the times she had already inspected me to assess my neo-natal health, I was unconcerned at her probing and visual inspections.

“About three hours ago but they have been few and far between.”

“How many per hour?”

I pursed my lips as I reflected. “Perhaps four to five? They seem to have slowed again.”

“You have many hours yet to go, milady. For now, take a long, hot bath and get as much sleep as you can. You will need your strength and energy for the task ahead. Send for me when there is no more than five minutes between contractions.” She dipped her head and began to turn toward the door, but my voice stopped her, bringing her back to my bedside.

“What of my pain? The last contraction I had in the hall was accompanied by a sharp pain. This is uncommon at this stage, is it not?”

Eir smiled slightly, stepping toward me and covering my hand with hers. “No, Your Highness. Consistent pain, yes. But aside from discomfort, you might indeed feel the occasional pain. Your body will tell you if something is amiss. Trust your instinct, Lady Sigyn.”

“My thanks, madame,” I replied, relieved. “Would you send my maid in as you leave? I wish to order my bath.”

For the second time, the healer nodded her head and exited, followed by the entrance of Farda moments later. She immediately drew the recommended bath and helped me into the tub, placing towels and a bell just within arms’ reach before retreating from the room. I desired these last moments of privacy to collect my thoughts. Once I went into active labour, I would be fretted over and surrounded by those entrusted to safely deliver the new Heir to the Throne. Midwives, Healers… but not the one person I wanted above all else to be with me. He sat elsewhere in the palace, knowing the news but continuing in his ruse, not able to be here as his child is birthed. When I first arrived in Asgard, Loki having manipulated me into marrying him as a way to keep not only himself out of prison but me alive, I had felt trapped. I could not go back to Midgard and I couldn’t  _not_  wed Loki. Looking back on those tense weeks with the curse of hindsight, I realised I was even more bound to fate now than I was then. Not for the first time, I found myself cursing my husband, tears creating ripples on the surface of the water as they fell.

When the water had grown cold and my limbs heavy, I rang the bell for Farda’s assistance getting out of the bathing pool. Her eyes were wide as my breathing became shallow with the advent of another contraction. “Perfectly… natural,” I panted, reassuring her. “Just help me dry and into my nightdress. I must sleep.”

“Would you like me to wait with you, milady?” she asked timidly, clearly unsure if it was appropriate to suggest such a thing. “Should you require succor?”

I stretched out on my side in the giant bed, snuggling down into the covers. “Yes, Farda, please do. You are welcome to any of the seats in this room except His Royal Highness’ chair. It might be a long evening and an even longer night.”

“Norns willing it shall be over soon,” Farda comforted but I her words sounded miles away as I quickly fell into the last good sleep I was to have for many years.

* * *

 

I awoke moaning, clutching at my abdomen as I curled my body tightly around my belly. The last of a series of nightmares, I had been dreaming that Laufey, king of the Frost Giants, was using one of his massive, frigid hands to squeeze his grandchild from my body, declaring that as son of his son, this child was to be King of Jotunheim. Never having seen his face, it was blurry, but when I focused, the sharper relief was Angrboða, come to steal the ball of writhing snakes I had birthed. “You think your blood is purer than mine?” she cackled, the fire from the braziers in my chamber glinting off their scales as she held them aloft. “You give birth to monsters just as I. Look upon your children,  _Lady Sigyn,_ and witness the destruction of all you hold dear!” Her image shifted and suddenly I was looking at Loki, her last threat echoing as he erupted into flames, her maniacal laughter terrifying me. “Look upon your husband and see the Destruction of Asgard and all the Realms!”

“I’m burning… Always burning,” he intoned, an emotionless statement that chilled me to my soul, his voice the only sound filling the vacuum left after the giantess’ cackling subsided. “And all the worlds shall burn with me.” As the conflagration consumed his body, he extended his hands toward me but instead of the snakes, I saw only trails of blood, thick and flowing, falling from his palms in large drops.

“Sigyn! Your Highness, are ye well?” The voice was soft and lyrical, its soothing tone calming me as my mind struggled to make sense of reality. Freyja hovered over me, green eyes wide with concern.

“Loki… dead…” I babbled, clutching her hand as a strong contraction began in my lower back and spread, the pressure on my womb twice as great as when I lay on my back in the council chamber.

Still in the haze of waking from a dream and disoriented by the immediate onset of intense physical discomfort, I followed Freyja’s gaze, witnessing Iduna’s look of helplessness. The two women, my only friends in Asgard, had arrived to be with me during my delivery; while I knew I should feel grateful to them, I could only feel frustration at my inability to form a cohesive thought. My mind was still preoccupied at the image of my husband with rivulets of sticky, crimson blood on his hands and the bright flames that burned, a terrifying orange aura that still flickered behind my eyelids.

“Loki is not here,” Freyja said gently, sliding her arm under my shoulders and assisting me into a sitting position. I could not surmise what her thoughts regarding my somnolent mutterings were but I could tell that she was approaching the subject of my ‘dead’ spouse delicately. If I were in her position I would do the same. “Drink. It will help. Then you can try to sleep some more.” 

Realising how dry my mouth actually was, I did not refuse when Iduna handed me a bronze cup, the sides covered with condensation from the ice cold water inside. I nearly choked when another contraction hit, the pain taking me by surprise. Until now, with the exception of the one after leaving the council chamber, they had been merely uncomfortable. Iduna held the cup for me as I hunched in on myself, my body instinctively reacting in the same manner in which it does for the pains during my monthly flux. “Breathe, Sigyn. When it ends, roll over and get on your hands and knees. It will help.”

I did as she instructed, but barely made it through the next contraction before I collapsed back onto my side, the weight of my belly pulling my spine painfully downward, curving it into a snake-like shape. Farda and one of the other household maids steadily brought in and carried out bloodied rags. “Do not be alarmed, m’lady,” Freyja reassured, noticing my gasp as she dropped a particularly soiled one into the large golden bowl Farda was holding at the ready. “It is normal for there to be some blood. I had the same anxiety my first delivery but do not fear; you are in capable hands. Here,” she continued, offering me her hand. “Arise and walk around. Ease the pressure on your back.”

Having taken no more than two dozen steps, I felt a sensation akin to my bowels loosening and a great rush of warm fluid dripped down my legs. One of the maids scurried forward, dropping to her knees to soak up the effluvia with a stack of towels. “Oh!” I gasped, my hand squeezing Freyja’s as I reached toward one of the pillars with the other. “I think I need a new nightgown.”

“Continue moving and one of your maids will have it by the time we get back to the bed.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Iduna slip out of the room, no doubt headed to update Eir and the All-Father of my progress. I had been in labour at least six hours by this point and I was sure that Loki sat on the throne, anxious for news, adapting his best poker face behind the mask he wore. Regardless if he was himself or masquerading as Odin, this was to be his heir. 

Nineteen hours into my ordeal, overcome with pain, I passed out. For several blessed minutes, I was surrounded by cool, black nothingness. Mind no longer dulled by suffering, I was able to recall that I had been in a similar place of limbo before, in the moments before Loki unveiled me to Thor and Odin.  _Loki._ The clarity with which I recalled his face wrenched me from this space between life and death; I had to pull through this. I had to do it for him, for all he did to bring me home, for the child struggling to be free from my body.

“Send for Eir!” Freyja snapped, tension audible in her voice. “Sigyn, can you hear me?”

I nodded. “Ice,” I croaked, lifting my hand to point at the small bowl of ice cubes on the table next to the bed. The Goddess of Love swiped the small cube of frozen water across my lips then let it slide into my mouth. I sucked on it, the cool liquid soothing my arid throat.

Trailed by two of her apprentices in the art of midwifery, Eir arrived. The atmosphere in the room shifted from one of simply waiting to anticipation, an eagerness that was almost palpable. “When was your last contraction, Your Highness?”

She had addressed me rather than one of the other goddesses in the room. Until I fainted, I had been in near-constant pain, the spasms separated by intervals barely longer than a minute; as I focused, I realised that it had been several minutes since the last one. “I do not know for sure. Several minutes perhaps?” Before leaving the first time, she had instructed to be called only once they were ‘no more than five minutes apart.’ Freyja, having two daughters of her own, knew by experience when the time to call Eir was. If she was here now, I must be close to delivery.

The Healer’s brow furrowed and she peeked under the thin cotton gown I wore, her warm fingers examining me. I winced, gritting my teeth at her touch. “Bring me a warm rag,” she demanded without bothering to look up.

Blood stained the linen rag when she dropped it back into the bowl her apprentice held at the ready. “Fight the compulsion to push, Your Highness,” she coached as I cried out. Pain tore through my body, starting in my core and blossoming throughout my abdomen and down to my pelvis. “Now is not quite your time.”

Gnashing my teeth, I battled the urge to bear down. Freyja set a basin on the nightstand and situated herself behind me, allowing me to rest against her as she wrung out a cloth and pressed the cool, wet material to my forehead. It smelled faintly of lavender, the scent calming me for a moment. “It will not be long now,” she soothed, massaging my shoulders. “Breathe. Avert your mind from thinking of anything apart from the task at hand.”

Throughout the years of my late childhood and adolescence, pain was a way of reminding me that I was still very much alive. It kept me connected me to the world in which I lived in a way nothing else did. Others who related to this phenomenon experimented with razors and blades, drawing their own blood as a reminder of their continued mortality. Instinctively I knew my tolerance for pain was too high and chasing that connection, that tether to the Earth that kept turning around me, could be disastrous. Mentally I was often still that little girl lost and for that there was no cure; but today the agony which my whole being was experiencing was not only a reminder that I was still alive but that the man who made sure I stayed that way could not be here to witness the birth of our first- and, if he maintained this ruse, presumably our only- child. As Freyja pushed on my back, forcing me into a quasi-sitting position and linked her arms through mine, pulling my shoulders back toward her, as Iduna knelt beside me, speaking encouraging words and holding an ewer of water at the ready, and as Eir moved into position at the foot of the bed, urging me to push when the next contraction hit, I screamed, releasing all the physical and emotional anguish of the past five months through my voice. “Loki,” I sobbed, tears streaming from my eyes with the effort, the pain, and the plethora of feelings that, preoccupied, I could not find the headspace to fight. I wanted him with me. It was him I wanted to brace myself against, my hands slipping on the leather of his trousers as I dug my nails into his thigh with every twinge. Did he wait anxiously? Did he wish to be with me during my ordeal? I hoped he felt guilty for leaving me to face this without him. “I wish I could hate you for leaving me alone. Curse you, Loki!”

“Again, Your Highness! The child crowns!” Eir demanded. My blasphemies against my husband were in no way extraordinary for a woman in labour but most women giving birth to their deceased spouse’s offspring would be offer less derision; however, most women weren’t married to Loki. Profaning his name was the rule rather than the exception.

Baring my teeth in a grotesque mask of agony, I bore down, shrieking anew. My body was being cleaved in two; it felt as if a hot knife was slicing its way from between my legs to my belly. Summoning all the strength left to me in my frail body, I pushed again. “Quickly, Fylgia!” the Healer barked. “She’s tearing! Bring me that cloth!”

The commotion was background, inconsequential. Tearing. I knew what that meant.

 

What did it mean?

 

“Final push, milady.”

 

A voice.

 

“Push, Sigyn. PUSH!”

 

I couldn’t. No, no more pain. Take it away. Leave me be.

 

But I did. Somewhere I found the strength, and with one final adrenaline-enriched push, I felt my body ease as Loki’s heir slid into the world. 

 _Our_  child. Eir was holding it with its head tilted down as one of her assistants, the one she addressed as Fylgia, used an instrument to draw the fluid from its nose. Handing the infant to Iduna, Eir hastily stitched me up and cleaned up the afterbirth, adding another layer of material to the pile of ruined cloths that would need to be burned. The blood of a goddess was sacred and the sheets on which a Princess had given birth were deemed too important to be used again by a mere commoner.

I slumped into Freyja, not caring that her deliberate movements extricate herself from between my back and the headboard were jostling me painfully. All I wanted was to look upon the face of the life Loki and I had created. To evaluate the features for any sign of him or myself, to cradle them to my breast as they nursed. I did not have the energy to protest as she propped me up with pillows, offering me a much needed drink of water.

Smiling radiantly, the Goddess of Youth tenderly laid the squalling infant, still slick with blood and yellow goo, in my arms. “Congratulation, Your Highness. You have a beautiful daughter.”

Beautiful was an understatement. She was  _perfect._  Tiny face angrily squished as she protested being forced into the world, her cries were short and sharp, music to my ears. Ten fingers, minutely crafted, curled and flailed. My frame shook as I wept anew. Never had I felt such love for anyone or anything. I’d die for this angel I cradled in my arms. I’d kill to keep her safe. I’d once threatened to have her father arrested for his drunken threats; nothing and no one would prevent me from ensuring her safety and happiness. “Svala,” I cooed, chucking lightly at her continued protestations. “Welcome to the world.”  

“A beautiful name for a beautiful princess,” Iduna complimented.

“It means ‘swallow’. Svala Lokidottír. How I wish your father could be here to meet you, little bird.” I choked up, wondering if it was possible for my heart to break at the same moment it had never felt so complete. Deep down I knew Loki had the capacity to be a good father. For all his shortcomings and the aggrandizement of his less savoury characteristics to compensate for those others might perceive as weakness, he had a soft spot in his heart. There was still a great deal of good left in his soul. Asgard whispered that I had begun to coax the old Trickster, the youthful prince he was before learning his true heritage and the stress of occupying a throne with that truth weighing on him. A daughter born of his blood and my body would bring out those qualities he had willingly calcified.

Freyja brought a bowl of warm water and gingerly rubbed Svala’s skin until it was pink and ruddy, as fresh and clean as a spring rose. “Where, pray tell, did you put your wedding veil for safekeeping?” she inquired, handing the bowl off to a maid.

“Wardrobe. On my vanity is a box of ebony. The veil and the cord are under the cushion inside the box.”

Frigga’s tuition in Asgardian wedding tradition as I selected my trousseau echoed in my mind. I had considered the name Sága for the child in my arms, homage to the fallen Queen, but decided against it. I did not want to tempt the Norns. 

Eir and her team discretely left and my household staff was dismissed until such time as I recalled them. The two goddesses swaddled Svala in my veil and wrapped the leather cord that had bound my hand with Loki’s during the wedding ceremony loosely around her body. Dipping curtseys to me and the Heiress Presumptive despite the ordeal we had endured together, they departed, leaving my daughter and me alone.

Gazing down at her face, now peaceful in sleep, I could just see Loki in the shape of her eyes. Hugging her tightly, I began to softly sing to her as scalding tears flowed down my face, falling onto the soft white chiffon of the veil.  _“Child of the wilderness/born into emptiness/learn to be lonely/learn to find your way in darkness…”_  I sang, the heart-breaking words a lullaby. I did not know if I sung it for her or for myself, encouragement for the long road that stretched ahead of us. Tightening my hold on the tiny bundle in my arms, pressing her against my beating heart, I kissed her forehead, christening my new born daughter with my tears.

* * *

 

_Playlist:_

_[Learn to Be Lonely](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPwUPG0Ac-k)-_  Phantom of the Opera Original Motion Picture Soundtrack (performed by Minnie Driver)


	21. Chapter 21

My sleep was disturbed by the sound of voices in the hall outside my chamber door. Night had fallen and one brazier was lit, casting a flickering amber glow over a small area, the rest of the large room shrouded in darkness. Svala had been born late in the afternoon; I had nursed her then handed her to Iduna, watching as she laid the baby in the cradle Loki had furnished. Aided by a goblet of water laced with poppy juice, I slipped into a relatively painless- if fitful- sleep.

“I am sent at the command of Lady Eir to ascertain the Lady Sigyn is suffering no illness or bleeding,” a foreign voice declared. “The wellness of the Princess is her highest priority.”

“Go girl, but make haste. Her Highness rests peacefully and I’ll not have you upsetting her or the child,” Freyja directed, tone somewhat sharper than I’m sure she intended. Her and Iduna had decided to take shifts in staying with me, Freyja taking first watch. She had gone to rest in my study, no doubt stretching out on the long sofa of soft eggplant-hued velvet to sleep herself.

The great golden door opened slowly, a sliver of light crossing the floor until the figure of a slender young woman was silhouetted against it. She paused for a moment, not wanting to startle me, I supposed, before silently gliding toward the cradle. I squinted at her, attempting to distinguish which of the several assistants Eir had during my delivery but my anger overrode any other thought when she dared bend and pick up my sleeping daughter.

I should have upbraided the underling for daring to lay hands on the Heiress Assumptive but the look of complete awe on her face as she beheld the sleeping infant bid me to hold my tongue. She gazed upon the child like a convert to a new religion, a devotee who had found their salvation in this new life. With a critical eye, I scrutinized every step, every move, as she took slow steps toward the bed in which I lay, perching herself on the mattress beside me.

“You dare…” I began, horrified at the familiarity. Not even Farda, my handmaid since my wedding, dared initiate such intimacy. Generally I attempted not to hold myself to such high regard; there was a time I would have, before I was so warmly received in Asgard and I began to realise there was more to life than revenge and pettiness. But there was a line. I was not only a member of the Royal Family but only hours before I had given birth to a child and she was holding the fruit of that ordeal without my permission.

“Do you know what a fylgja is, Sigyn?” she asked, a fine green mist gathering around her body as she spoke. “It is a being who follows a child through their life, from the moment of birth on. A guardian.”

“Loki,” I breathed as the aura dissipated, my heart rate gradually slowing as my husband stood where the girl had been.

“Svala Lokidottír,” he said, voice rich with pride. He murmured something in Old Norse, low enough that I couldn’t distinguish the words despite my hard-gained proficiency in the ancient tongue.

Tears fell down my cheeks at the sight before me. I felt almost as if I was intruding on something private. When I imagined the first time Loki would hold our child, it had not been like this. Before being marooned in Russia, I thought Loki would have been there during my delivery, for Eir to hand him the child whom he would then gently lay in my arms. From the moment he revealed the cost of bringing me home to Asgard, that he had adopted Odin’s countenance and ruled from Válaskjálf, I knew all would be different. Just now, for these few stolen moments, things were just as they should be. Loki, myself, and our child, together.

“A more beautiful princess Asgard has never seen. Not even Thor could compare,” Loki praised, his huge hands tenderly cradling our daughter’s head and body. “It has been generations since the Realm has had a princess born of the blood. There are none like you, daughter.”

Svala began to stir and for the briefest of seconds, I thought she was responding to the words of her father but instead her face scrunched up and she began squalling, her short, sharp cries piercing the thick, emotionally-charged silence. I unlaced the neckline of my nightdress and pulled it aside, baring my breast as Loki stood and placed the baby in my arms, settling himself on the mattress beside me.

We sat in silence as Svala nursed, Loki gently cradling her head and rubbing his thumb over the wisps of silky black hair that crowned her scalp, his face serene. I knew that he would have to leave again and return to his charade and Freyja would return to continue her watch. For now, it was just us, my little family together for the first time, for however briefly.

“Were you here earlier?” I asked quietly, alluding to Loki’s arrival in the shape of Eir’s protégé. Svala had eaten her fill and fell back asleep, her translucent lids descending over her grey-blue eyes. Not content to sit by, I felt Loki’s hands shift to once again reclaim his daughter from my bosom.

“Alas, no. My day was consumed with well-wishers offering the All-Father their glad tidings over the impending arrival of my heir and the Grand Vizier pestering me with…” He hesitated somewhat, gaze flicking to the infant in his arms. “Making concessions should your child be female.”

The repercussions of giving birth to a girl had crossed my mind every so often, more so since Russia. Before my exile, the prospect of a daughter was not an issue. Loki and I could try for a son later. Now that was not an option. A dead man cannot sire children and the suspicion should I become pregnant again would ruin my reputation. This child was to be not only Loki’s heir, but Heir to Asgard, a safeguard to Loki’s bloodline ruling the Realm Eternal. Until several hours ago, this was still a promise. Now it was reality that the only child of the God of Mischief was a female, barred by ancient law from inheriting the throne.

Suddenly I hated the bairn that slept in her father’s arms, blissfully unaware of the world into which she had been born. I envied her ignorance; until he spoke of the Vizier’s concerns, I could delude myself into believing Loki’s outward composure. But I knew. Behind the mask, his contentment was a lie. Everything he had done to rescue us from Odin’s banishment, his usurping the All-Father’s throne, the lies, murders, and deceit all amounted to naught when I bore a girl. I risked everything I had known on Midgard when I swore my allegiance to Loki and lost it all when he kidnapped me here. I put all my hope in him when we married and my trust that we would one day rule here or on Earth. Now I had lost my husband to his ambition and elaborate schemes and the only comfort I had left was the tiny figure that sealed our fate.

“What will happen now?” I whispered, already knowing the answer. With Thor having abdicated his right to the throne, there was only one person left in line.

“Balder,” Loki declared, his voice ripe with derision. Whether it was over the contentious relationship he had with his second brother or the fact that the God of Light was now heir following my failure to produce a son, I did not know. I didn’t want to know. I was too lost in my own head, drowning in bitterness and fighting the urge to push Loki- still holding Svala- over the edge of the balcony so I would truly have something more tangible that might-have-beens to mourn. Loki, still seated at my knees, paid little attention to me. He was still staring at his daughter, besotted, despite her being the face of my failure.

“Why do you stare at her so?”

His green eyes flicked up, meeting mine, expression confused. “She is my child,” he stated simply.

“But she is not the necessary heir. Are you not disappointed?”

“Certainly. But… she is a piece of you. I cannot find it in me to hate her for that which she could not help.”

Exhausted by the ordeal of giving birth and overwhelmed by all the emotions I felt, I began crying, softly at first then gaining momentum until I was wheezing for breath between sobs. I had no energy to maintain my stoicism, no defense against the deluge. I hated myself for giving birth to a daughter. I despised myself even more for hating my child. Loki would have to continue his parade as his adoptive father indefinitely because he had no security. I wanted my mother by my side and the chance to proudly display that I, the youngest of my parent’s five children, finally had started my own family. I was in pain and my body was screaming for sleep. I didn’t even want Loki there. His presence made everything worse. I craved solitude and he was robbing me of that.

Loki watched my meltdown with a mixed look of confusion, concern, and disgust. I did not care. I wanted to be alone in my misery. I wanted my tears to drive him away.

After several minutes, I managed to pull myself together long enough to speak. “Loki, I am tired and need to sleep. You may take Svala where you will but please, leave me to rest.”

“You well know I cannot take Svala,” he replied shortly. “You are her mother. I cannot suckle her. Once I walk out of this room, I am Odin. The All-Father, not her father.”

“So she is to be an orphan, then?” I retorted.

“You are her mother!” Loki snapped, voice rising. “She is your responsibility!”

“And you are her sire! Is she not yours as well?”

The look Loki shot me was of pure abhorrence. “I know not what in the name of the Nine your issue is, Sigyn, but this is not you speaking. You, who threatened have me incarcerated for my drunkenness. Who broke the nose of an einherjar to protect yourself and the babe in your womb. Now you disown your progeny? OUR child? Even I am not so heartless.” He stood and kissed Svala’s forehead before angrily stalking from the room, my furious scream drowning the sound of the door he slammed behind him.

Svala awoke and began squalling, but I could not find the energy to respond. I knew that I had given birth to the child who was crying, that I had once waited impatiently to hold her in my arms, loved her fiercely. But that was gone. I felt no connection to the infant. It was as if something inside me broke when Loki mentioned the Vizier’s concern over the succession. Petulant, angry, and confused, hot tears poured from my eyes as I tried and failed to summon the fortitude to comfort the terrified baby.

“Sigyn?” Freyja asked, her voice concerned as she opened the bedchamber door and surveyed the room. “My lady? Are you well?”

“I am fine,” I lied, refusing to move from my position facing away from her. I did not want her to see the shame in my eyes.

“The princess… Your daughter needs you, Sigyn.” Freyja’s voice was tinged with urgency now.

“She was fed not ten minutes past. She seeks attention.” 

I heard her murmuring to Svala as she lifted the infant from the cradle. “Do you not wish to console your child? She needs her mother.”

“Her mother requires sleep!” I snapped.

I did not see Freyja’s reaction but moments later, I heard the soft thud of the door as it closed, leaving me feeling the most alone I had ever felt in my life.

For days, I had to be reminded that the child whose cries filled the room was mine and needed my caretaking. The energy it took to open my eyes and process their words left me with none to spare. That child had come from my body; I vividly remembered the pain of birthing her and the joy that filled my heart the first time my eyes beheld her. I knew these things but they felt like remembrances of a past life, an existence that had ended the moment Loki walked out of our bedchamber after seeing his daughter for the first time. I tried, Norns know I expended my energy attempting to recapture that jubilation, but I always ended up crying and frustrated, still looking at Svala like a stranger might. 

Iduna and Freyja spoke in hushed tones to and around me. I suspected that often it was about me; what did they say when not cautiously modulating their words in my presence?

Some time after Loki left my side that first night, celebrations had sprung up throughout the city, the glow of bonfires burning across the skyline. The clamor echoed down the ancient streets, the joyous well-wishes for a new Princess of the Realm to have a long, healthy life. I had waved my hand, magically erecting a barrier to mute the sound. Once upon a time I would have picked up Svala and walked onto the balcony, basking in the applause and attention as I informally presented the next generation of the blood royal to the common folk. But I didn’t. The masses might rejoice but I had failed. They feted my failure to produce a son.

To his credit, Loki made an effort to visit. He continued to be frustrated with me, his sharp tone usually reducing me to tears when accusing me of neglecting his child. He didn’t understand. I didn’t understand. No matter how I tried to articulate it, I could not express the darkness in my soul. To my husband, it was simple: I was the mother. That was my child. It was my duty, my obligation, to care for her. His expectation and my knowledge that I was all Svala had left me with guilt that sapped my energy every bit as much as forcing myself to suckle her.

Iduna continued to supply me with apple juice, practically pouring it down my gullet in anticipation of guests. Balder arrived four days after Svala was born, bearing gifts from himself and Karnilla. There was an offering of Norn stones from the Norn Queen’s kingdom, a show of friendship and of her vassalage to Asgard. They were powerful magical objects and as soon as Balder had departed, I bade Farda store them in the closet with the salves and herbs supplied by Iduna soon after my return. On a personal level, Balder presented a birdcage with a small bluebird as a gift for his niece. Renowned for his way with animals, he trained the song bird himself. The animal might have been a gift for Svala but it was I who found the most joy in its happy chirpings. It penetrated the murkiness of my consciousness and for the first time in days, I smiled.

Nanna, Balder’s wife, came to pay her compliments the next day. I had never seen her before but when the petite woman with hair like corn silk tread into my room, I knew she could be none other than Balder’s discarded wife. Despite never having encountered her during my time in Asgard, there was something offputtingly familiar about her. It wasn’t her demure presence or the sense that she was merely playing background to the activity in the space. Something I couldn’t put my finger on and that nagged at me. 

I managed a smile as she made her way toward the bed, welcoming her. She grinned back, her face transforming. Before, she was just an unobtrusive woman but when she smiled, she shone as bright as an angel. She might have spent her days secluded and in constant mourning, but in that moment she was so heartbreakingly beautiful that my own vanity took a hit. Together, in happier days, I am sure she and Balder were the darlings of the Asgardian court, a gathering known for their admiration for physical aesthetic. Loki and I had been described as handsome. Personable. But our darker beauty could not compare to the milk and honey looks of Balder and Nanna.

“I hope you can forgive me for not coming to pay my respects sooner, Lady Sigyn,” she greeted as I held my hands out to her. “It was grossly inhospitable of me.”

“You are duly forgiven, dear Nanna,” I consoled. “I am pleased that we are finally meeting. I have heard your praises much lauded.”

“I’m flattered, m’lady, but I know what whispers must travel these halls when it comes to my name.”

“On the contrary, it is the rare bird which is most prized. I desire that we might become friends, you and I.”

“I would like that very much,” Nanna agreed, seeming to glow with pleasure. “I have brought a gift for the princess. She might not have need of it now but perhaps one day when she is older, she might find it useful.”

Pulling her hands from mine, she reached into a slit in the skirt of her powder blue gown and produced a small, thin parcel, placing it in my palm. I nodded my head toward Farda who picked up Svala and gently handed the babe to Nanna. Pulling back the tawny suede wrapping, I gasped slightly as the sunlight glimmered on a bit of metal. Inside were two combs of beaten silver and bone, one bearing the image of Sleipnir, his eight legs forming the teeth of the comb, and the other of Fenrir, the fangs of his upper jaw the tapering prongs that held the accessory in the hair. “These are exquisite,” I breathed, lightly running my fingertips over the engraving. “You are most generous, Lady Nanna.”

She blushed and held out a second package. “I am not quite through. This is for you, Your Highness.”

“You do not need to…” I began as I flipped the soft material back, losing my tongue as I beheld the gift. An articulated representation of Jormungandr made of many pieces of gold strung and looped together to make a rope rested in my palms, a huge, pear-shaped star ruby dangling from his mouth. Tail and mouth not connected, the necklace was roughly U shaped, designed to slip over the collarbones, the ends hugging the edge of the hollow of the wearer’s throat. It was the most stunning piece of jewelry I had ever laid eyes on. “I… I… I am speechless. This is far too much, Nanna.”

“For this you must thank the All-Mother. Frigga knew about your child, you see, and she entrusted me with this the day Thor arrived in Asgard with his mortal companion, giving me instructions to guard it should the worst happen and to give it to you when the time came. Once word reached me of the safe delivery of little Svala, I knew this was the moment.”

Frigga. Of course she knew. I had been exiled days before Loki and I had agreed to tell her and Odin and Loki had never told the only person to visit him in captivity. Would things have been different if he had?

I slid the necklace around my neck, looking down to evaluate the look. Sunlight from behind the open balcony curtains filtered through the stone, rendering a large teardrop shaped area of my breast blood red. Glancing down, the sight comforted me. It was as if my own heart’s blood stained my magnolia white skin crimson, an outward show of the heartbreak within. I cupped my palm over the stone, covering it, hiding the stain it left on my skin. It was too intimate a thing to be seen by others.

Svala began stirring in Nanna’s arms, demanding with all her royal might to be fed. Steeling myself, I reached out for my daughter and pushed aside the neck of my gown, offering her my breast. She sucked greedily, and I stared absently as her tiny fingers curled and uncurled, fighting to find that feeling of complete adoration I felt at her birth. Nanna was watching with a soft smile, her face the mask of contentment that mine should have been; to me, this was just routine business. An obligation. Errantly, the notion of offering Svala for adoption to Nanna passed through my mind. I would shift into the image of a lowly servant and sneak from the palace, vanishing into the night… and the cosmos. I wanted to make Loki chase me through the Nine Realms. Rescuing me from exile in Russia and usurping the throne was not enough proof of his love. I wanted more.

Nursing complete, I nodded toward Farda. She emerged from the furthest corner of the room and, cooing, gently laid Svala back in her cradle while I tied the violet silk ribbon tie of my garment. “I apologise for my manners,” I excused myself. “Motherhood beckoned.”

“No need,” Nanna replied, rising to her feet. “Children demand much of our time. Forseti was indeed the same.”

“You have a child?” I asked, interest piqued at this news.

“A son,” she replied sadly. “He is with his father. He is immersed in the study of seiðr and diplomacy so I should be grateful but I miss him fiercely.”

I was not sure how to respond. I reached out and grasped her hand in mine, squeezing it. My own daughter slept peacefully in the grand wooden cradle at my bedside but emotionally she might as well have been in Nornheim with Forseti Balderson. Separated from our progeny by vastly different distances, I felt empathy for her plight. Nanna and I were in similar situations in many ways and it was comforting to know I was not alone. This beautiful goddess and I were kindred spirits.

Taking her leave, I reclined back in the bed, absently fingering the necklace around my throat. It was heavy, like the proverbial stone around one’s neck. Suddenly I didn’t have the strength to keep my head held high. I pulled the bauble off and dropped it onto the blanket next to me and flopped onto my side, wincing at the pain as my chapped, milk-engorged breast was pinched under my arm. Was any of this worth it? Bitter despite the connection I had made with Nanna, I cried myself to sleep, just as I had every day for weeks.

Enlivened somewhat by Nanna’s visit, I began to leave my bed more often. Royal custom dictated that I could not be seen publicly until two weeks after giving birth, at which time the child would be laid at its sire’s feet to be either acknowledged as their offspring or spurned. During one of his furtive visits, I pressed Loki for information on how this would be addressed given our special circumstances.

“I will, as Odin, acknowledge Svala as Loki’s- my own- legitimate child. None can challenge the word of the All-Father.”

I harrumphed, watching as Loki fiddled with the blanket of mint green velvet in which his sleeping daughter was wrapped, tucking it more closely under her chin. Loki, the god of icy composure under whose skin beat a warm heart. In the brief, daily visits he made, he was a better parent to our child than I was and I seethed with envy over that fact. Sometimes I sensed that he could see through my act, discern my farce, but, uncharacteristically, he didn’t call me out on it after that first night. On Midgard, this melancholy was well-known, if taboo. However, I did not know if it was a common phenomenon amongst the Ásynjur. Freyja and Iduna saw my depression. I knew they commented on it in hushed tones. Rarely was I left entirely alone and I was certain it was because of their orders. Either it wasn’t unique only to me or it was something they didn’t understand but recognised as potentially dangerous. Whichever it was didn’t matter to me. Not for the first time, I wished Loki would take Svala and walk out of the room, leaving me alone. He could continue to sit on the throne and raise his daughter while I went back to Midgard to make a new life for myself, moving on from the events of the past few years. Maybe find a partner whose ambition amounted to little more than a house with a two car garage and an early retirement. I had magic and plenty of gold; I could create a new life free of Loki and Asgard.

But I knew I couldn’t. What’s more was I wouldn’t. Deep down, I didn’t want to. There was a perverse happiness in my misery. Like I deserved it for all the pain I knew I had caused on Midgard when I severed all ties by aligning myself with Loki. Looking at Svala, I no longer wanted to lay waste to humanity. I wanted to conquer my own ennui, surmount this depression and find the joy in new life and the prospect of a new future. Tomorrow, I told myself, quoting my favourite Midgardian film. Tomorrow is another day.

The day of the presentation ceremony dawned cloudy and the air smelled thickly of rain. Had Thor been in Asgard, I knew he would have wielded Mjolnir to banish the storm but in his absence, fat raindrops began to fall on the city, splashing as they hit the gold and stone structures. The Realm Eternal had been abandoned by its greatest champion in favour of mortals. I waved Farda away as I began hyperventilating, concern spreading over her face as she set aside my ceremonial breastplate.

“Your Highness, might I be of help?”

“No, no. Thank you, Farda. I just need a moment. Just put that back and bring me the gown of black satin and the matching stole. I shall not wear armour today. I do not wish to recollect war on this day celebrating new birth.”

I sank into the chair at my wardrobe as she opened one of the wooden panels and pulled out the requested garment. I was going to wear half mourning as I placed my child on the floor of the Throne Hall. The stole was cape-like, with a train in the back and draped over the shoulders, just brushing the floor in the front. It was mostly off-black with a wide stripe of cloth of silver on one end and a second panel of pale pink to represent Svala, the whole thing bordered with gold embroidery. The dress itself was strapless, of the blackest sating and slightly flared below the knee to allow for movement, and would normally be topped with a breastplate. It was simple but made a statement. It said visually what I could not say with words. Instead of the phoenix-winged helmet, my hairdresser arranged my hair in elaborate curls and braids and crowned it with the diadem Loki presented me with at our wedding feast.

Swallowing my tears, I attired Svala in the dress of white silk with the green embroidery that I had worked on so lovingly. Her eyes, so much like Loki’s, were open, watching me as I dressed her. Disconnected as felt, for all the rancour in my heart, there was still overwhelming love for my little princess as I stroked the jet black wisps of hair on her soft head. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. Just as Loki stated he could never hate her because she was a part of me, I could never loathe her for the fact she was also a part of him. I prayed to the Norns that she would inherit the best of us both and none of the selfish ambition that drove her parents to the predicament in which we currently found ourselves.

Since Svala’s birth, I had slowly been working my magic and concealing items of sentimental value so that I would have access to them anywhere. A piece or two here, one there… not enough to be noticed and easily explained as misplaced if sought. I worried that the day would come that Loki’s secret would be discovered and we would have to flee. I expressed this to him and while he did not make any move to talk me out of doing this, the fact he thought I was being paranoid was clear. Today I added the larger items just in case: the cradle, my armour, the beautiful tapestry woven by Frigga, among others. I was no seeress but my intuition nagged at me that I needed to be prepared.

Glancing through each room as I made my way back to the antechamber where my attendants waited with my daughter, I made sure I had anything I might possibly want or need. Jewels to be pawned, clothing, possessions, and trinkets that held memories of here and Midgard, all magically stored in a state of suspension.

Taking Svala in my arms, I cradled her as the guards opened the great golden doors and my retinue trailed in my wake as I strolled toward the Throne Hall. Outside the palace, rain pierced the air, striking the flagstone balconies and terraces in a staccato rhythm, a clap of thunder rolling across the distant hills. Still, the population of Asgard spilled from the palace into the streets, all wanting to be a part of this day, the day the child of a fallen prince was honoured by the All-Father. Though members of the Court and invited guests and dignitaries were given choice vantage points, the general populace was allowed to fill in the remaining spaces inside the Throne Hall. The sound of their voices was a dull roar, muted, that blended into the thunder that rumbled again. I surmised the mass of people were more curious to verify this child of Loki’s was no monster, to be one of the few who could boast that they had seen his posthumous daughter, than to honour their dead prince.

The massive room fell silent as I stood at the end of the long, polished aisle, my attendants having melted into the crowd. Thousands of eyes watched me, evaluated my every move, counted my even breaths by the rise and fall of my shoulders. Opposite me, regal on the golden throne, sat my husband, appearing to all as Odin. Ignoring the urge to humiliate him by turning on my heel and retreating back the way I came, I stepped forward, my head high and gait purposeful. The future might have been uncertain but the sleeping infant in my arms was my future. Our future.

Silently, I lightly ascended the steps, the clicking of my heels echoing through the lofty space. I kept my head bowed as I bent and placed Svala before the throne, on a blanket of purple velvet that had been laid out to protect her tiny body from the cold floor. She looked so vulnerable there, surrounded by the august display of Asgard’s power and the sheer magnitude of the hall. I knew that it was Loki, not Odin, who sat in that throne and that Svala would not be made to lie on the floor long, that he would lift her and declare this child to be of the Blood Royal, under his protection, but it did not assuage my unease. Bowing slightly, I backed away, retreating down the steps to wait until I was summoned. I knelt at the foot of the steps, both knees on the floor, supplicating myself on behalf of my daughter, making a show for the populace of my penitence for the sins of my husband.

Ages seemed to pass between when I bent my head and the first sounds of chaos. From the silence rose a thousand gasps, the shrill screams of terrified women, and the outraged battle roars of the men. The clamour of einherjar, their armour and weaponry, added to the din that erupted, the metallic notes hovering above the voices. Terrified and confused, my body tensed as I raised my head to see what the incited the commotion. Svala no longer rested on the blanket; it was crumpled in front of a pair of black leather boots, spats with intricate detail giving way to trousers of interwoven straps of more black leather. Before my gaze finished travelling the length of his body, I knew.

Loki.

“Sigyn,” he shouted, the urgency and command in his voice pulling my attention to him alone. I clambered up the steps, knowing that in moments the crush of people would close in on us. Shoving our daughter in my arms, he “Take Svala and GO! Go to the Weapons Vault. Stop for nothing and speak to no one.”

I wasted no time. Clutching a screaming Svala, I sprinted through the crowd, ignoring the hands that tore at my clothes, feeling the delicate silk of my stole ripping as someone stepped on my train. Farda fell in behind me, managing to escape the melee. Heeding Loki’s instructions, I did not slow my pace or even turn to speak to her but I was grateful for the maid’s loyalty. Muttering an incantation, I altered our appearances to simple serving wenches, women who scrubbed floors or worked in the kitchens turning a spit of meat over the fire. We went undetected, running against the bodies headed toward the Throne Hall.

Before arriving at the doors of the vault, I lifted the spell that concealed our identities. Allowing the adrenaline in my system to overwhelm me, I began trembling, tears brimming over my eyelids. With my gown in tatters, shaking, and my hair tangled behind the kokoshnik on my head, I was certain I must have resembled one of the feared dísir.

“Halt!” one of the guards commanded, crossing his pike with the einherjar on his left. “None goes forth into the Vault, not even the Goddess of Fidelity.” I knew that word of Loki’s reappearance would have been conveyed to them by now.

“Please,” I pleaded, using my frightful appearance to my advantage. “I claim asylum. I fear my husband and I seek refuge in the safest place in all Asgard. For the sake of the life so newly begun, I beseech you to have clemency.”

The soldiers glanced at each other and one nodded slightly, giving away that my deception had succeeded. They stood at attention and allowed Farda and I to pass, the doors sealing us inside the cool interior.

“What do we do now?” Farda whispered, crossing her chest with her arms and rubbing her upper arms to increase circulation.

“We wait,” I replied, unsure myself. “Help me remove this armour.” Under the breastplate, my nipples were rubbing against the flimsy material of my dress and pressing against the metal, exacerbating my pain.

Farda’s hands shook as she pulled the frontispiece away from my body, taking a seat on one of the steps while I nursed Svala, quieting her cries. Together we waited, silently, unable to discern if minutes or hours were passing. No longer able to sit in silence any longer, I began pacing, cooing at my baby to lull her to sleep. The movements soothed not only Svala but myself, the repetition allowing me to think through the fear that gripped me. Would Loki return? Why had he chosen this moment to reveal himself? I could not begin to fathom his reasoning but my mind turned over dozens of scenarios. Was he safe? Why was it taking so long for him to reach us?

Outside, there was a commotion followed by the reverberations of the doors crashing open. Farda screamed and jumped up from her perch on the steps, backing toward me, frenzied gaze fixed on the open portal. Loki appeared at the top of the stairs, silhouetted against the amber glow of the braziers. His hair was tousled and one of his daggers was clasped firmly in his right fist.

“Loki,” I breathed. He had come. I was relieved to see my faith in him was not misplaced.

“Sigyn,” he replied, descending the steps and opening his free arm to me. I bolted forward, fitting myself against his side, feeling safe despite the unrest I knew raged all around us. Sheathing the weapon, he ran his hand over Svala’s head and quickly kissed my temple before turning away from us, removing a trio of oblong stones from one of the displays. Though my magical education had only lightly touched on their uses, I recognized them immediately as runestones, artefacts of immense power. For these to be stored in the vault, they must have possessed an extraordinary amount or a specialized power that the All-Father wanted to keep contained.

Walking toward us, Loki was concentrating on the objects, the carvings on them beginning to glow vivid green. Taking Farda’s hand in mine, we knelt on the ground, crouching as my husband knelt, using his body to shield mine and Svala’s. His words were low and clear but in the same ancient language used when Frigga, Iduna, and Freyja combined their magic to make me immortal. I did not know the spell but I trusted Loki.

The emerald glow grew and enveloped us, a bright flash that penetrated my eyelids. I pressed my palm over Svala’s eyes to protect them, hoping this strange spell would be over soon. Farda’s grasp on my hand tightened, her fingers digging into mine. Loki’s words reached a crescendo, a strange, loud whooshing sound, similar to wind being sucked from a vacuum, filled the air before ceasing abruptly.

“Loki, what was that?” I whispered, watching as he replaced the stones on their plinth.

“A chance at a new beginning.”

Standing, I opened my mouth to ask why, what happened, but he silenced me before I could utter a syllable. “For her,” he explained, indicating our daughter with a nod of his head. No more explanation would be forthcoming so I did not press the matter. I sensed that whatever plan he had failed and this was a backup, a failsafe if the outcome was a disaster. I believed that this- whatever it was- was as much for Svala as it was to save his own skin. Whatever his reasoning, I was willing to accept this change for a new start with eagerness. I desired a world in which I could live with Loki, raising our daughter together. I was willing to put up with whatever mischief and intrigues in which my husband became embroiled so long as we were together. A family.

Wrapping his arm across my shoulder, a still-skittish Farda once again following behind, we walked toward the doors. “What is this chance you have given us?” Nothing in the vault appeared to be any different. Did this spell decimate his enemies?

Opening the doors, we walked through the corridors, drenched in bright sun. Weather manipulation? It had been storming when I fled the fracas in the Throne Hall, thunder a backdrop to the commotion I wove in and out of as I hurdled toward the weapons vault.

Pausing in front of the door, he smiled at me, a mischievous smirk, before pushing it open. A woman with long, slightly curling strawberry blonde hair stood inside, her back to us. “I offer us a fresh start.”

The woman turned and I was face to face with someone I thought dead.

Frigga.


End file.
